#I can’t live with a bird so I drew this | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

turquoizxe · 11 months

Text

𝐉𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐘𝐨𝐮

Hobart “Hobie” Brown x Spider!Fem!Reader

Author’s Note: I just want to sincerely apologize for the delay in this post, as I have been traveling out of my hometown the past few days. However, my favorite punk is still my current brain rot lmao. The second installation is already in progress, and hopefully as I have planned, it will be out by the date I posted below( after the conclusion of the first chapter). Thank you all for for love you showed on the series announcement! As I have stated in my earlier post, I haven’t written a fan fiction in over two years, dealing with school and other things in life. Please express your thoughts throughout the series and comment! I was a little nervous because I’ve never written anyone from the UK, especially with such a thick accent. Please, share your thoughts. Thank you for your understanding, and you may begin reading.

With Love,

— Turquoizxe.

Installation (1/5) : ‘Dodgy’

Rating ― Mature (16+)

➝ Hobie has been distancing himself quite a bit lately. You feel froggy enough to follow him and enter the world, to what is known to be the Spiderverse. He seems to enjoy your brave gesture, but he quickly realizes why you weren’t invited to join the club.

𝙘𝙤𝙣𝙩𝙚𝙣𝙩 ―fluff, heavily plot based, meeting existing ATSV Characters…

𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨 ― ATSV SPOILERS! Minor use of language and swearing, romantic tension, minor acts of violence, Hobie’s teasing, Miguel being himself, Beef w/ Jessica Drew…

𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙩 ― 3.6k

Dodgy; can be a synonym for dangerous, bad or untrustworthy

As much as you kept to yourself, it was hard to imagine that you would make any friends outside of your suite mates. Your eyes were always harassing a piece of literature, involved in extracurricular activities, and keeping track of random facts no one would need in their everyday lives. Nothing short of the perfect student.

"[Name], this is the fifth time you’ve been in my office in two weeks-”

“Okay, four if you don’t count the rant about my psychology professor.”

You were always an academic achiever, graduating with honors and holding the title of salutatorian in your class. Being accepted into your dream school, earning enough scholarships to cover most of your tuition.

Yet, here you were, looking for ways to save your grades with finals around the corner. Had it been a year ago, you wouldn’t have to worry. That was until you were bit by a radioactive spider the one time you decided to skip studying and attend the most underwhelming frat party that your suite was raving about.

“You’re on the verge of losing your scholarships. $25,000 a year on the line, and you tell me all the time about how hard to your parents are working to cover the rest of your tuition.”

And you knew you couldn’t afford to stay if you didn’t work your ass off to pull through. You didn’t think being spider-woman could be so stressful. Patrols have gotten more hectic, and the late nights have been affecting your attention span in class, and even less energy to do your work. It felt so easy in the beginning, and everything was good until it wasn’t.

You felt a sting on your cheek, your tears sliding past your injury from patrol, and you felt yourself become small as you placed your face in your hands, wondering how something you’ve worked so hard for is a letter grade away from being lost.

Your counselor heaves a heavy sigh, sliding tissues across their desk to you. In just a few weeks you went from acquaintances to friends.

“Look, you’re a great kid, we didn’t have this issue your freshmen year. I know it only gets tougher from here, but you can’t fight this on your own. It’s never too late to accept help.” They started typing on their computer, ringing up your transcript and current grades for the semester. A sudden swish of wind flows through the office, following the trills of birds off in the distance your counselor scoffs at the noise and walks over to close the window. They return back to their seat, muttering intelligible, the only word you could pick up, ‘spiderwoman’.

“What about spiderwoman?”

“Oh! I just kinda thought how weird it was for another spiderman to show up when we already have a hero. Funny, I didn’t know there could be multip-”

“There’s a spider-man?”

You stammered. You felt a heat in your body, another superhero here that you weren’t even sure about.

“As much as you know about everything, I thought you would hear about the spotting of a spider-man in the city. They seem to stick close to campus.”

“Any proof?”

“No. Just words, but if there’s one spider-person, why not two?”

You could feel your blood course through your veins from the new information. It was just you, unless your old mentor, Peter, came to visit. You were knocked out of your thoughts when your name was called.

“As of now, you have a 2.0,″ your counselor stated. “Your classes seem more work oriented, and out of your five classes, you only have two finals.”

You slowly looked up from your lap.

“I’ve read the syllabus, taken notes of what to study for and what to work on. It’s just-”, you stammer, not able to give them the honest truth.

“See? You already took the steps to better yourself, don’t stress, and pace yourself, you have a month left kid.”

You let out a small chuckle. More than 20 missing assignments shouldn’t be too bad to juggle, right?

You were lying to yourself, you were going to suffer, but for a positive outcome, you didn’t mind. You got yourself together, sniffling softly as you packed your things.

“I don’t wanna kick you out, but I do have to meet with the Dean-”

“You mean your lov-”

You were cut short by a small stuffed animal flying towards you, your reflexes doing you justice before the soft material made contact with your face, slamming the door, gaining a small audience as eyes turned to you.

“Sorry everyone.”

Now, for the real fun to begin, you can at least spend some time with a special someone before your academic weapon tendencies are in full force.

The night you met him, it felt like one of those nightmares that would be impossible to wake from. To you, it was a dream.

His aura, and appearance on that stage. You were enamored with his attitude. His thick accent, strumming his guitar as his eyes bored into yours. This was one of the few times you didn’t mind that you skipped class for.

After the concert, you went to refill your water bottle before your walk back to your apartment in the damning heat. You saw him, drenched in sweat, guitar on his back, hunched over, and visibly upset that the water fountain was not doing it’s job. He looks in your direction, his expression making you anxious. Yet, you were still willing to help. You essentially escorted him to your dorm, where the water system was in a decent condition. He had pretty strong opinions about the education system and society in general, though you did appreciate his intellect.

“It’s a load of tosh for ya’ to pay so much for a piece of rubbish.”

The ways he seemed so sure of himself more often than not made you intrigued, and he was more than happy to indulge you, being nearly distracted from the fact that Satan decided to sit his bare ass cheeks on the Earth that day. He gave you his number, and from then on, he would come see you whenever you both had the time, which was rough, considering the current mess that was your life. He was the only person you felt cared enough to step you out of your comfort zone.

The night walks on campus, your medusa piercing that he compliments all the time.

“It accentuates your features. Peng ting you are, yeah?”

Your eyebrows furrowed, a deep chuckle erupting from his throat

“Means you’re hot.”

He gets it. He gets you. And sometimes, you thought that maybe what you were feeling would never go away when you’re with him. Your hangouts were more often casual, leading to more intimate moments, mentioning him to your family, and him teaching you how to play his guitar. You began to feel it linger, when you knew you both didn’t want to say goodnight.

The immediate thought of it also breaks you.

You’ve felt that he’s been dodging you and your attempts to reach out as of late. It’s been weeks since you’ve last seen Hobie, and this time, he initiates to meet. It’s late in the night, and he’s late. You couldn’t remember the last time you were this mad at him, or if you ever got upset with him at all. You didn’t like how he started to drift away with no explanation, and instead of anger, you were filled with worry, wondering if the time you were spending together was beginning to put a strain on him. You paced around your living room, muttering words and contemplating sending an annoyingly long paragraph of a text that would make it seem like you were dumping him.

“S’mitten for me, are you love?”

You looked up at your window, the tall brit leaning on the emergency stairs, making himself at home as you pulled away.

“In your dreams, Brown.”

He walks up to you, his lanky frame hovering over you so expectantly. You looked down at your feet, almost embarrassed of your newfound feelings, and you feel even more giddy when he stands close to you. He knew that you liked him, but teasing you was his second favorite pastime besides hanging out with you. You walked away to your kitchen, grabbing an energy drink for the both of you. Silence did not exist when you were together, and the awkwardness of it all was not helping. He bit his lip, his teeth caught in his piercing. He knew he was in trouble.

“I know you’re upset.”

“Hobs, you were supposed to be here 2 hours ago, I understand being busy but I thought you were seriously hurt or something”, you exclaimed, turning away from him. Showing up late was a recurring issue with him, and you’ve had just about enough.

“Oh don’t get cheeky now. You’ve been neglectin’ your studies. A bit daft if you ask me.”

You’re eye twitched at his use of his slang, sometimes you didn’t always need him to explain to know that what he was saying had negative connotations.

“That’s none of your concern, it’s you I’m worried about.”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” he smirks. There wouldn’t be a point in arguing with him about this, handing him his drink, turning on your television, starting the episode of your favorite series where you had both left off.

You sat farther away from him than usual, occasionally glancing in his direction, and unfortunately, he was staring right back at you, even more intense.

“I don’t bite, unless ya’ ask,” he teases, softly patting a seat closer to him, and you oblige. It wasn’t like you weren’t happy to see him, and he chuckles at your annoyed compliance. It was becoming an awkward staring contest, and you quickly lost track of the media playing on your screen. You open your mouth, just out of curiosity.

“So, how’s life treating you?”

“Fighting fascists, new piercings, performin’, ” he looks over to you, taking another sip of his drink, awaiting for a life update on your part. You bit your lip, anxiety getting the best of you. Despite the closer proximity, you still felt to far away from him. He sighs, using his leg to move your body to face him. You quiver, tears threatening to spill from your face once again, but you still looked up.

He looked at you, seeming nonchalant, but you still felt the worry in his aura.

“I know you want me to squash it, but it’s obvious s’omething bigger is bothering you,” he softly speaks, his thumb circling into your knee. “You act as if you’re scared of somethin’— of someone.”

Hobie scoots closer to you, using guiding your chin to make you look at him directly for the first time tonight.

“Talk t’me.”

You shake away from him, that feeling in the pit of your stomach only becoming more intense.

“I can’t tell you everything, Hobs.”

“But you can tell me anythin’, yeah?”

You look up, his face was close to you now, not realizing that you were nothing leaning into each other the more you spoke. His hand, slowly sliding to your hips, slowly stroking your stretch marks that your shirt wasn’t covering. You looked into his eyes, a small smile showing.

“There she is,” he exaggerates, giving you a soft squeeze, and you let out a giggle. The moment was yet again, cut short by that annoying ass beep from his wristwatch, that has interrupted your meaningful conversations countless times. Hobie curses from under his breath, backing away from you, the light illuminating his flawless features. And just like that, the moment has passed. His eyes look up to you, disproval in your expression, and you knew what was coming next, so you did it for him.

“Just go.”

Hobie let out a deep sigh before apologizing for what felt like the thousandth time, knowing he would do this the next time you make an attempt to make time for each other.

But this time, you were going to figure out why.

—

As soon as he had left, your senses went off. And this was the last time you were going to ignore them.

You had quickly went off into your room after he left, frantically throwing around your belongings to find your suit before Hobie got too far from you. You had followed him, all the way to an one of the abandoned buildings on campus that was currently under renovation. You stood behind a slab of concrete, peeking from the side, watching as he walked through a portal as if it were just another day.

But you saw, and now you knew. Your suspicions proved you right once again.

You flicked your wrist, webbing into the portal before it closed in on you.

And now, there you were, caught by Hobie after catching your ankle so you wouldn’t plunge to certain death after following him through his portal, seeking nothing but a dark abyss before you, seeming bottomless.

You turned towards him, a smirk plastered across his face.

“I fuckin’ knew it.”

You webbed free from his grip, finding ground. You looked at his appearance, and now you knew why he wore such familiar colors. Your suit hugged your body, adorned in your favorite colors, riddled with black accents. Hobie looked you up and down, whistling in admiration, while you took in your surroundings. HQ did not look like this at all when you first arrived.

“Place look familiar?”

You had brushed yourself off, taking in the countless people that had suits similar to yours. The unique design of the interior, and many, many, familiar faces.

“The Spiderverse.”

“Hey I call it the same thing!”

You turned in the direction of the speaker, a young boy standing in front of you. He had a black suit, red accents riddled across, two other spider men following behind you, staring at you in admiration.

“I’m Miles!”

You were still floored by all that had occurred in just a few moments. Slowly, you raised your hand, waving to the kid, smiling at him.

“Hi Miles, I’m [Name].”

“Oh, Hobie! Did we get a new recruit?”

A spider woman in a white suit walked up behind him, her pink hair flowing, and eyes that could manipulate a way to your heart.

“I’m Gwen, and this one here Is Pavitr!” Both greet themselves which such joy to see you. You almost felt as if you were back home, introducing yourself to who seemed to be Hobie’s colleagues. You expected him to be upset with you for following him, or keeping your identity as spiderwoman a secret, or vice versa. Yet, he’s seeing you in a new light, a personality that didn’t exist in your world. You would only ever smile like this if it was truly something or someone you cared about. You both would know that.

“Alright kids, follow me!”

The voice felt all too familiar, the oozing confidence in her demands making you cringe instantly, and you turn to see no other than Jessica Drew herself. You stared blankly, a sigh of irritation, your bubbly personality disappearing almost instantly.

“Jessica..”

She started at you, her face turning into a small scowl before turning back around, motioning the group of teens to follow her, but not before throwing a day pass in your direction. It was hard for them to pay attention when they were too focused on your sudden change of demeanor. Hobie walked beside you, brushing against your hand to catch your attention.

“What’s the tea with you two, ey?”

Your side eye is critical when you look towards him, signaling that you didn’t want to talk about it. He grunts before shrugging it off, still walking close to you. You watched Miles as he introduced himself to everyone, completely enamored with his surroundings. All that you could conclude from this, is that he was new. But while he was looking at everyone else, they were all looking at you. You heard the mutters and whispers amongst them as the HQ went into a deafening silence. You could feel Hobie’s gaze on you, sliding his arm around your waist for comfort.

“Piss off. Go back to what you were doin’.”

Quickly, they did what they were told, but you could still hear the voices of some conversing about you. And Hobie could hear it too.

“I didn’t think they’d let her come back.”

“Maybe they caught her sneaking in, they did say she never gave her watch back.”

He looks to your side, still silent as he watches your body tense up from their words. Maybe he wasn’t the only one acting dodgy.

You look ahead, looking at the lair that belongs to the man you used to call your boss. You felt Hobie release his grip from you to catch up with Miles, watching closely as he walked around him, fidgeting with materials and grabbing small objects. The young teen seemed stressed about something, making you just as anxious. You heard him expressing his frustrations about not having a watch, Hobie suggesting to Miles that he make his own.

You had forgotten how big this room was, and you wished it was longer by the time you got to the main event. He descended from his pad, multiple screens could be seen, one of which you could see showed your last conversation with Hobie at your apartment. Miles and Gwen walked up to him, Miles eager to introduce himself, holding a small box of food. Hobie held you back, watching you stare at the sight before you in amazement.

The moment quickly dissipated once you saw the Miguel everyone knew, his violence showing its face rather quickly, throwing an item in Miles direction. With quick reaction, your web caught onto the object, throwing it to a forgotten corner, showing yourself to him. He chuckled, his expression gleamed with frustrations and anger.

“I knew you would be here.”

“Your favorite disappointment could never miss out on a good time.”

Glaring at one another, everyone could feel the tension, so thick it was possible to cut it with a knife. Hobie watched from afar, reading for whatever should come next. That is until you felt the joyous cries of a child, turning to see a grown man in a pink robe. Instantly, you felt a wave of tears washing over you, Peter calling your name as soon as you ran into his arms.

“I missed you kid.”

Miles shared the excitement, walking up to Peter, also capturing him in an embrace. Miles looked at you in awe once more, wondering how you knew him.

“He was my mentor.”

“That’s crazy, me too!”

You heard Miguel groan, echoing throughout the room, Peter ignoring him, and telling you and Miles to do the same. You once again here the coos of a child, looking in the direction, a baby crawling across the wall. You excitedly exclaim with Miles, “You had a baby!”

Peter laughs sheepishly, yelling for his daughter, telling her to make sure she kept her day pass on, clearly in her own world.

Once again, the atmosphere changed dramatically, Miguel stepping down from his pad, Miles following, both engaging in a rather lengthy conversation about canon events. That’s when you started to shake, Gwen and Hobie looking at you with worry. Still, you held your ground, listening to Miguel explain the Spiderverse to Miles, the timelines, and the unfortunate events that occurs to just about every Spider-person. You saw the young teen grow anxious, beginning to mention his dad, and how he becomes captain in just a few days. Miles grows impatient and restless, and arguing that he shouldn’t sit here and let his father die. Miles looked to his colleagues, searching for confirmation. They all looked away, proving the timeline to be correct. Miguel turns toward you, motioning Miles to look in your direction.

“Your friend here believed the same thing.”

You felt everyone’s eyes on you, feeling as small as Miguel once made you feel. You looked at Miles, ready to hang onto every word you as you began to open your mouth to speak, but you looked away.

“Go on, tell him, [Name].”

You sucked up your sniffles, having to relive that memory constantly felt dehumanizing.

“I….I had a friend, who believed the same thing you did. She wanted to be able to save her parents, to be able to do both, and live the perfect life.”

You felt your chest tighten, yet urged yourself to continue.

“I ended up getting her killed, and destroyed her Universe.”

You heard Miles let out a gasp, you looked to Hobie, his eyes wide, and you couldn’t decipher his emotion. Miles turned back to Miguel, demanding that he be returned home. He refused, locking him in. They had all began to walk away, apologizing that it had to end like this. Well, not on your watch, but it seems that Hobie beat you to it.

A flash of light, knocking everything and everyone on their ass, you chuckled at the gesture. Miles was still in shock, quickly recovering, running off into the headquarters. Miguel runs after the kid, everyone following behind. You felt a arm wrap around your waist, a portal opening. Before pulling you both through, Hobie declaring his standing with the league.

“And for the record, I quit.”

—

You were back in the comfort of your own home, dressed in your lounge clothes, while your suit in the washer. Hobie had flew you home, as there was no reason to hide it anymore. Now, it was an uncomfortable silence, the two of you haven’t spoke since you left the headquarters. Hobie was getting ready to head out, his back turned to you, but not until you made yourself clear.

“We can’t come back from this.”

You looked up, his eyes staring back at you as he turned to you. The moon illuminated his smile, responding casually.

“Maybe that’s a good thing.”

And then he was gone, and you didn’t know when he would be back.

Or if he ever would be.

Installation (2/5) : ‘Piss Off’ — Released!

‘Just For You’ Masterlist for previous/future installations

ᴛᴀɢꜱ!

@darkphantommagazine

@von-studios

@vickyzangels

@roseluxxx

@cupcakekiss

817 notes · View notes

safination · 28 days

Text

Partners in Death…And Life

Part 4: The Radio Stars’ Co-host Just Wants To Do The Dishes

|Part 3: Not Everything You Hear From the Radio Should be Trusted| Part 5: Glimpse of Me and You| |Masterlist| Ao3| Taglist| Parings: Alastor x wife! Reader. Tags: fem!reader established relationships, hopefully not but just in case ooc!Alastor (I'm trying my best, guys) Reader is in hell for a reason, Warnings: Very brief dissection of the human body. Kidneys It’s me. Hi. I’m the problem. It’s me. I am sorry :D. These past *checks notes* three weeks (yikes) have been really busy for me. But I’m finally posting?

The light from the bus stop illuminates Alastor’s block handwriting. Smiles are drawn on the edges of note with different colored ballpoint pens. Dear God, it was like looking at kindergarten art, but you appreciate it nonetheless. Alastor’s instructions tell you that his house is a ten-minute walk from the bus stop.

You flip the note, studying the map Alastor drew.

A bird caws from the patches of trees across the road. There’s no living soul out here besides your own for miles.

You tighten your grip on the straps of your bag, and walk until you find yourself standing before a wooden gate. The hatch unlocks easily, and you hike up the path until you’re stepping on to the porch. Alastor’s house isn’t much—well, it’s much more than the tiny apartment in the city that you call home, but besides that, he has a very normal looking house. You don’t know why you expect anything different. The flowers on his windowsill brighten the place, and the rocking chairs by the edge makes it homier.

You smoothen your hair, fiddling with the note. A deep inhale, and then another deep inhale, and then another deep inhale, and then another deep inhale, and then another—

Fuck it. You knock on the door.

A beat passes, and then another beat passes, and then another. Oh God, did he not hear your knock? Should you knock again? Your father always said that it was rude to knock twice, but you’re sure the knock should have been heard. Alastor was probably at the back of the house. You’re just going to knock again.

Alastor swings the door open, smiling at you. “You are right on time!”

Soft music plays behind him. The lights inside make his living-room look warm. “You said to be here by eight … so … Here I am!” you say with a light laugh. It doesn’t come out as you hope. “I’m very fond of being punctual.” Okay…hmmm…why did you say that?

You smoothen your hair, and fiddle with the straps of your bag.

“I admire punctuality.” Alastor smiles at you.

You smile back.

He opens the door wider. “Would you like to come in?”

‘Yes.’

‘Right.’

‘Of course I would!’

All proper responses to his question. It’s a shame you don’t say them. You reach into your bag instead, and shove a paper bag into his arms. “It’s raw.”

Alastor lifts the paper bag, studying it with careful eyes until they flicker to the wet patches at the bottom. “…I’m almost afraid to ask who it came from.”

You step through the door, and take off your coat. “My father, actually.”

Alastor tilts his head. “This is your father—am I supposed to cook him or something?”

“It’s venison!” you say, and run your hand through your hair. “Dad went hunting last week, and he gave me a bunch of meat and well…well, I thought you'd appreciate it more than I do. There’s too much for me to eat alone. And it’s always polite to give a gift when you’re visiting a home.”

Alastor secures your gift around his arms, and takes your coat. He’s smiling. You think he’s being genuine—you can’t really tell. “Thank you.”

He hangs your coat on the rack, and ushers you deeper inside his home. Alastor disappears into what you think is his kitchen, but you stay planted in his living-room floor. His house is nice for someone who lives alone. Things all have a place, they’re not necessarily organized, but it’s neat. It makes you smile.

It’s easy to see Alastor between the walls.

This is a home that’s been lived in. You count at least three portable radios in the living-room alone. There are books on the coffee table by the window, and the spines are creased as if it’s been read over and over and over again. There’s a chair next to the window as well. It has stains, and the cushions sink as if they’ve been loved for decades. You can practically see Alastor in that chair, a warm drink in his hand. He’ll reach across, and twist the knob of the radio that already has his favorite station tuned.

Alastor strides out of the kitchen, your gift probably inside his freezer. “Follow me,” he says with a wave of his arm. “I have something to show you.”

“Oh…okay.”

There are photo frames lining the wall of his stairs. You observe it as you follow deeper into this house. Some are photographs of what you’re going to assume is Alastor, and some are certificates. You don’t have time to poke around and read each and every one of them.

Alastor opens his arms, shaking them as he presents you with a door.

A single door…One door at the back of the house. A door you don’t know where it will lead.

You stare at him, and take one single step back. “You’re not going to kill me in your basement, right?”

Alastor laughs at you, wiping a tear for the sake of showing you. “Good heavens no! Why would you ever think that?”

“Because I’m inside a man’s house, and he’s currently leading me to the basement. A man, might I add, dumps bodies in the forest,” you tell him with a wonky smile. “I hope you don’t go around asking every lady to your murder basement.”

“I don’t, actually.”

“My goodness, you really know how to make a lady feel extra special.” You fiddle with the straps of your bag, tightening your grip to stifle the urge to smoothen your hair. “So, how do you want to do this?”

Alastor tilts his head. (It’s kind of cute.) “Do what?”

“You know…uh…. You’ll tell me to run,” you say, then motion to the china vase behind. “Then I’ll grab this really nice and expensive looking vase and smash it over your head.”

“Please don’t.”

“And then I’ll make a run for the door.”

He raises his eyebrows. “You weren’t interested in running last time.”

“And I’m still not,” you say. “So there’s no point in killing me.”

He chuckles a bit and his glasses slide down his nose. He pushes it up. “Think of this as a gift! Or more like an offer of partnership.”

“A gift of death?”

“I've already told you I wasn’t planning on killing you anymore,” he says, sighing. “Just…just follow me, and you’ll see!”

You huff and cross your arms. “I detest being lied to.”

Alastor opens the basement door. The hinges creak. It appears as if darkness itself lives inside, swirling and eating up whatever light that passes through. “Yes, that’s good to know.”

You take another step back. “That’s a really creepy basement.”

“You haven’t even been inside yet,” Alastor says. He places a light hand on your back, practically pushing you down. “Now, now, don’t be so stubborn.”

You grab the door frames, and push against him to resist. “I’m not going without knowing what’s down there.”

Alastor presses on your back. “If you go down there and see what I’ve prepared, you will feel very silly for causing such a ruckus.”

You push back harder, using the door frames as support. “As first dates go, this is giving really mixed signals,” you say, trying to smile. “I hope you don’t treat all ladies like this.”

Alastor rolls his eyes. “Just the stubborn ones.”

You and Alastor are at a stalemate. He pushes. You push back. The classic dilemma of an unmovable force versus an immovable object. “If you kill me, I will haunt you,” you say, digging your feet into the wooden floors. “I will haunt you, and hide all your tacky bow ties.”

Alastor stops pushing, and you fumble backwards from the lack of his opposing force. He points his nose to the air, straightening his bow ties. “It is not.”

You frown at him. “Oh…I’m really sorry.”

“You should be.”

Taking this opportunity, you press against the wall like a hissing cat. “I’m sorry you actually believe that!”

Alastor pinches the bridge of his nose, and takes one deep breath. He strides to you, and the world goes upside-down when he flips you over his shoulder. Alastor carries you like a common sack of worthless potatoes.

“I really don’t like this!” you shriek, angling your head to glare at him. Alastor has a surprisingly really nice back. Like…a really, really nice back.

Alastor meets your eyes and smirks. “You’ll like it in a second.”

He tightens his grip around your hips, and his boney shoulders dig into your stomach. You keep your eyes ahead. “You have a really flat butt.”

He pauses for a second. “Stop looking at it.”

“I will do as I please,” you say with a huff, and go limp in his hold as you accept your fate. “It’s just all pointy. Maybe some squats will be helpful?”

“If it’s such a horror to you, stop ogling my buttocks like a pervert.”

“Now you’re just putting words into my mouth,” you say with a weird giggle. “These pants suit you well.”

He shakes you like a wet noodle. “I will drop you.”

“Please don’t.”

Alastor flips you, and your feet land safely on the ground. His basement is totally not creepy, totally not creepy at all. The fluorescent light bulb swaying around totally does not add to general horror. The blacked-out windows, and the spiderwebs on the wood make you not want to sprint to the top.

The cadaver bag on the table makes you stay.

It’s filled. You walk to the table, and observe the lump. Grasping the zipper, you pull it until the face of a dead man greets you. He’s fresh. Killed less than a day ago.

Alastor opens his arms, wide, as if to present to you. “Your studying can all be done right here!”

You stare at him, accepting the smile that creeps on your face. “Really?” you say, and trace this man’s nose with your fingers—his skin is cold. He is cold and dead, and full of organs you can poke around and observe. “You’re going to just allow me to dissect this body?”

Alastor smiles at you. “See?” he says. “You were making all the fuss, and now your smile could light up this very room.”

The laughter starts as a soft giggle that builds into excited glee. “I could kiss you right now.”

Alastor takes a step back. “Please don’t”

You roll your eyes then observe the person lying on this table. He wasn’t as big as the one before. This man still has the colors on his face, a bit pale, but he looks like he could just be in a sickly sleep. “Did you like this person?”

“Not at all,” he says. “He’d be alive if he was.”

“Then do you like me?” you say with a grin, placing a hand on your hips. “All this to get my attention, I see. I prefer being dined first, but not the worst first date I’ve ever been on.”

Alastor glares at you as he makes a face. “Ha. Ha. Very funny.”

“So quick to answer that it’s almost insulting,” you say. “Well, it was your decision to keep me alive.”

There’s a glint in his eyes that pierces your very core. The lightbulb makes a shadow pass over his eyes, and you swear his eyes glow. Every single cell in your body screams as Alastor looks down at you from his glasses with a smile and darkened brown eyes that match his well-kept brown hair. “And I’m currently debating my choice,” he says. “I do not like being mocked. I can still change my mind if I find you a weak link.”

“Oh…I…oh….,” you say dumbly, coughing a little bit. The words aren’t doing their job.

“Do you understand me?”

Basements are supposed to be cold—you definitely don’t feel cold right now. “I’m sure you can—I don’t doubt that at all.” To break your gaze on him, you turn to the dead man between you and Alastor. “This man didn’t suffer.”

Alastor’s eyebrows raise. “And?”

“I’m not a total idiot when it comes to… uh… hunting,” you say, tilting the dead guy’s chin to see his neck. It was a bit stiff. “There’s a single deep slice on his neck. He was probably still high on adrenaline when you killed him, but with the other body, you took your time. That guy suffered—this one didn’t”

He crosses his arms. “I don’t see your point.”

“Nevermind…just…,” you start and smile a bit. “Thank you for preserving this body so well, but unfortunately, I think I’ll have to refuse.”

Alastor’s eye twitches as he takes a step closer to you. His shadow towers over you. “You’re refusing?”

You zip the man back into his bag. “You don’t need a partner,” you say. “If anything, bringing him back into your house is risky. If it’s my silence you want, you already have it. There’s no need for all this.”

“I never asked for your silence.”

“Yet it’s yours nonetheless,” you say. “Thank you for the gift or offer for partnership, but I’m not interested in going into business with you.”

“Is this not beneficial for you?”

“It is…it really is, and every fiber wants to give in but it’s not wise for me to get mixed up with you,” you tell him. “I think you’re mistaking my sin for gluttony. I know trouble when I see it, and I’m not afraid to flee from it.”

Alastor’s face twists as his smile turns into a snarl. “All you could ever want right here.”

“You obviously want something from me,” you say. “I know you’re not above using tricks to get what you want. Although, I don’t understand why you take such time out of your day to do such consuming things.”

He glares at you. “There’s always the chance that you’d say no,” he says. “And I can’t have that happen.”

“I decide if something is worth my time or not,” you say. “I will only ask once: what do you want from me?”

Alastor exhales, and pushes his glasses. “I’d like to watch you work. There’s something I want to confirm.”

You study him for a second. “That’s all?”

“Yes.”

“Then hand me a pack of gloves please,” you say. “I can show you all the things I’ve learned.”

Alastor tosses gloves to your face. It whacks you and lands on the table. You curse at him, and roll your eyes.

There’s a large container of formaldehyde under the table. You don’t know where he got it or how, but still, you take a stray brush forgotten on one of the tables, and brush the skin with chemicals. The sharp smell stings your eyes, but you’ve learned to tolerate it. Alastor scrunches his nose, taking a step back.

Opening the window would probably be wise, but you could do that later. Your father always did hope that you’d grow out of your bad habit. But with such an exhilarating opportunity, caution is at the back of your mind.

The scapple fits into your palm as if it was made for you. Throughout this Earth, no… not just Earth, but Heaven and Hell as well, nothing will ever be as perfect.

Alastor laughs, not the breathy and light kind, but in a loud and triumphant way. His eyes bulge out, looking like they could pop out any second “It seems I was not wrong,” he says. “You have the most precious smile I have ever seen.”

“Okay?”

Alastor leans closer to you, jerking your chin to face him. “All this time I’ve seen you; I have never seen your smile as true and honest as now.”

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

The bristles of the brush tangle on your feathers. It’s a struggle to smoothen the feathers at the back of your head now that you live alone.

The clock strikes an hour past noon, and work will call for you soon. It would be nice to be one time if this motherfucking brush would do its fucking job! You tug on the handle, cursing when it jerks your scalp. The smack of your forehead on the vanity table echoes around the room. The feathers bundled on the floor make you screech. That’s it. It’s over. You are not taking another second of this.

Discarding the brush, you head to the kitchen.

You grab two mugs, and take two spoonful of coffee ground and feed it to the coffee machine. With only a press of a button, you make the most perfectly perfected perfect cup of coffee. You take both mugs and take a seat on that little side table inside the kitchen.

The second mug steams with coffee.

You plop your chin on the table, unable to draw your eyes aways as you stare at it. Making a second cup is a waste of your money. Deep down to your very core, you’re aware that it’s a waste. It strikes you with the gentleness of a plane crash every single morning you make it, and every single night you have to throw it away.

Silence is your companion in this empty house. Where are the days when soft music plays on the radio? Where are the days where light footsteps walk around the carpeted floors? Where are the days of stories over dinner? These days watching television is the only way to fill that silence.

A knock breaks your pathetic moping.

The knocking starts out soft and hesitant, until it’s replaced with loud banging.

Swiping your mug from the table, you stride to the front door and swing it open. Charlie and Alastor stand in front of you, big smiles on their faces.

Your husband pushes a small ugly statue right up your face, presenting it to you with a self-satisfied smile. “I was told it was polite to bring a gift to a person’s home,” Alastor says. “Do you like it?”

“Oh no…,” Charlie says, frowning a bit. “I didn’t bring anything.”

Alastor places a hand on her shoulder. “No worries then! This gift shall be from the both of us.”

The mug slips from your hold. Charlie catches it, not a single drop spilling, and plops it back on your hand. You blink at Alastor and frown. “Why are you knocking?”

“We’re here on super serious business talk,” he says, wrapping an arm around Charlie’s shoulders to bring her closer. “Charlotte here has something to ask you.”

Charlie smiles. “Just Charlie, actually.”

You shake your head, tightening your grip on the mug. “No.”

Alastor tilts his head. “No?”

“No, this is your home,” you say, opening the door wider. “There’s no need to knock.”

Alastor and Charlie step inside, and you take a sip of your coffee—a long, drawn out sip. Alastor walks to the shelf nearest the door, placing your ugly little statue on the shelf that’s meant for all other ugly knickknacks. It blends in with all the other gifts Alastor’s given you.

Charlie’s eyes bounce around the walls, eyes wide as she looks around. “Wooooaaaaah,” she says. “This is a really nice house you guys have!”

Alastor glares at the television. “Why, thank you!” he says. “I put in a lot of care into how it looks. It seems you’ve redecorated—I don’t like it.”

“Oh, you never do,” you say. “Let’s move to the kitchen, shall we?”

Alastor’s ears straighten. “The kitchen?” he echoes. “Oh yes. Let’s go the kitchen.”

Alastor hooks his arms around yours, pulling you to the kitchen. There’s determination set in each step. You and Charlie take your seats by the kitchen table. Charlie continues to look around. You see it in her eyes as they flicker around to count each radio.

It seems you’ve made a mistake.

Alastor goes straight to the refrigerator, and swings it open.

With horror, you watch as his gaze observes each level meticulously, humming as he does. There’s not much to look at, considering the only thing inside are a couple of eggs, empty plastic containers that you’ve been too lazy to wash, last week’s takeout, and a couple of sauces and condiments.

When he finally closes it, your shoulders sink as you exhale…until, of course, Alastor wraps his fingers around the freezer’s handle.

“Would you like anything, Charlie?” Is the first thing that comes out of your mouth. “I think we have juice or lemonade—”

“We don’t have any of those,” Alastor says, and his gaze bears down on you. “It makes me wonder what will be inside our freezer, my love.”

Charlie smiles brightly. “I don’t need anything,” she says. “I had tea with Rosie this morning, and Alastor and I had lunch on the way here.”

“That’s wonderful to hear,” you say, chuckling nervously. “You know what? It’s such a hellish day today, and it would be a waste to spend it here. Why don’t we move to the garden?”

“No.” Alastor crosses his arm. “We are staying right here.”

You sulk in your seat, drooping a little. “…okay.”

Finally, Alastor opens the freezer door. His twitching eyes and pursed lips tell you everything you need to know about how the next fifteen minutes will go. Carefully, with the tips of his fingers, Alastor pulls out one of those microwave meals you buy at the grocery. He glares at the frozen chicken nuggets and pork cutlets, and all the processed frozen food you store there for easy meals.

“It’s not as bad as it looks,” you say, giving him your most innocent smile. “And I barely eat those anyway. Those microwaved meals are just there for the occasional meal, I swear!”

Without uttering a single word, Alastor opens the cabinet under the sink where the trash can stays, and pulls it out. Empty microwave meals fill the brim. He raises his eyebrows at you.

“Oh dear…” Charlie winces. “That’s a lot, even for me.

You sulk deeper into your chair.

Alastor inspects the cabinets above the sink. The only things that greet him are a bunch of pots and pans. Relief pours into you…until of course, Alastor grabs the largest pot at the back of the cabinet and opens it, smashing any sense of relief with a metal bat.

Alastor pulls out a large pack of instant noodles. “Do you have anything to say for yourself?” he asks. “I remember telling you that I don’t like you eating these.”

“But they’re delicious,” you say, pouting a bit.

“These aren’t healthy,” he says, pinching the bridge of his nose. “They’re full of chemicals!”

“Everything is full of chemicals!” you counter. “And I only had a few. The dosage makes the poison.”

Alastor opens the trash can and tosses what was supposed to be your dinner. “The plastic said it was a pack of twelve?”

You cross your arms. “And? I don’t see your point.”

“There’s only two left.”

You fiddle with the handle of your mug. “I…I was busy…?”

“We’re all busy,” he says and you could pick out the faintest sound of static. “Not a single fresh fruit or vegetable, or any proper meats. Have I taught you nothing?”

Your pout deepens. “Do we have to do this in front of Charlie, my deerest?”

Charlie raises her arms in surrender. “Don’t look at me,” she says. “Aren’t you a doctor?”

“Yes, one would think….,” Alastor trails off. His eyes land on the second mug of coffee on the table, and his neck tilts to angle until it snaps. Static scratches that air until it warps. His eyes darken to reveal radio dials. “Expecting a guest today?”

You blink at him a bit dumbly, and take a long and drawn-out sip of your coffee to try and compose yourself. It doesn’t work. “I don’t make coffee for guests.”

Charlie panics a bit. “There, there Alastor,” she says. “No need to get all crazy!”

Alastor’s antlers grow. “I’m aware you don’t. So, who is it for?”

“Oh….” Dumbly blinking at him continues, and the words don’t seem to be doing their job.

Alastor leans closer, his voice morphing a bit. “I’d appreciate an answer, my love.”

“It's yours,” you find yourself saying. “…If you want it, that is.”

He blinks at you. You blink at him. Charlie blinks at the both of you.

Gone are the growing antlers, and the static that buzzes your skin. Alastor stands before you with that never ending smile, perfectly normal—well, as normal as he can be. “You weren’t aware I’d be visiting.”

You frown at him. “It’s not a visit if it’s your own home.”

“I didn’t tell you I’d be coming home,” he says. “Why make one for me?”

The heat on your face makes you turn away. “Just take it, deerest.”

“Taste lovely as always!” he says, taking a swig. Your frown turns into a soft smile as your watch him drink. “But don’t think you’re getting away from this conversation.”

“It really isn’t my fault.”

“Oh, really now?” Alastor raises his eyebrows. “I’m positive I taught you how to cook nutritious dishes.”

You flick the mug, and a soft clink echoes a bit. “I still cook proper food for myself,” you tell him, showing him your saddest smile. “But…I find myself hating the dishes.”

Alastor twirls his microphone, and it strikes the ground with a soft thunk. “And you think saying this will get you off the hook?”

You stick your tongue out. “Is it working?”

Alastor sighs at you, and turns to the ticking clock. “We’re wasting time—go talk to Charlotte.”

Charlie smiles awkwardly. “Just Charlie, actually.”

With a triumphant smile, you turn to Charlie. “So,” you begin, “what business are we going to talk about today?”

It’s Charlies turn to sulk into the kitchen chair. “Extermination is a month away,” she says. “And Adam is heading straight to the hotel first! It’s just one bad event after another because Heaven refuses to listen, and I’m running out of options.”

Alastor steps behind you. Suddenly, a brush combs through the back of your feathers, smoothing those parts of your head that you’ve never been able to reach by yourself. Sometimes, you think Hell gave you feathers so someone could brush it for you. A part of you warms at the fact that you didn’t even need to ask your husband to smoothen your feathers. It’s a job he’s been doing since you first spawned in hell, and it seems it’s work he’s keen on continuing.

“Extermination,” you echo. “I love the extermination. There are so many desperate and poor souls who want to keep their limbs. I get rather busy—prime deal making opportunities right there.”

Charlie winces a bit. “Oh dear…um…okay. That sounds fun? And a little violent.”

Alastor speaks up from behind you, still running a brush through your feathers. “We can from Cannibal Town! Charlie was able to convince Rosie’s people to take arms.”

“Then, what brings you to me?” you ask, stiffening your back as you try not to lean into the brush that combs through your feathers. Alastor always was better at preening you. “I’m not much of a fighter.”

“Alastor suggested that I ask for your help,” Charlie says. “He said you’re one of the few people who knows how to fix wounds that come from Angelic Weapons.”

You bat your eyes at Alastor. “Spilling all my secrets, I see.”

Alastor glides the brush over your hair, leaning close to your ear. “Oh, not everything.”

You laugh and glance at Charlie. “In front of a guest, my deer?”

Charlie cringes with the most hilarious frown.

“It’s just a matter of counteracting the holiness of their weapons,” you say, clearing your throat. “After that, it’s purely medical.”

“How is that even possible?”

Alastor trails through your feathers, and it tingles and flutters. You keep your expression emotionless. “I’m surprised you don’t know this,” you say. “Did Belphegor never tell you?”

“No, she didn’t.”

“Well, eons ago, Belphegor found out that angelic weapons are considered holy, and that’s very bad for a Sinner,” you explain. “So, she and a bunch of her team found out that if you cut off the holy site or embed a large amount of Sinner energy, one will be able to treat it.”

Alastor leans closer, butting into the conversation. “I prefer it when you cut it off.”

“Of course you do,” you say with a chuckle. “I wouldn’t expect anything else.”

“Embedding the wounds with your magic takes too much energy from you, and because of that you always come home to me with sunken eyes. That is, if you don’t pass out before you reach the front door,” Alastor tells you. “I don’t understand why you go out of your way when they’re not worthy.”

“Worthy?”

“Yes, worthy,” he says. “Had they been competent, they wouldn’t need to go to you in the first place. It only proves that they’re weak.”

You smile at his words. “I guess I never thought of it that way.

Charlie rolls her eyes at the both of you. “So, you could help us?”

You twist, turning to Alastor. “I think you’ve gotten all my feathers straightened out,” you say. “My love, can you do me a favor?”

Lightly, Alastor taps your head with the tip of his cane. “Of course, how can I help?”

“I think the plants need some watering.”

The brush on Alastor’s hand dissolves with a poof. He leans closer once again, trailing your cheek with his finger until they hook on your chin. He captures you with his stare, and you allow him to trap you. He presses his lips on your cheek, and disappears into his shadow.

You take an even longer sip of your coffee.

Charlie massages her forehead, eyes twitching. “Dear Satan, it’s like watching my parents all over again! I can leave, you know,” she says, snorting. “Give you two a little privacy?”

“Oh, don’t bother,” you tell her. “There wouldn’t be enough time.”

Her brows furrow. “Time?”

“After all, extermination is in a month,” you say, brightening your smile. “We’re going to need at least two.”

“What the fuuuuck,.” Charlie whispers underneath her breath, her voice a pitch higher.

“Every couple of years, there will be certain seasons where it takes six!” you say. “Sinner bodies are just so exhilarating.”

Charlie chokes on her spit, and her eyes bulge. “Are you serious?”

“Hmmm, I could be—who knows?” You raise your mug to toast, and take a drink.

“You’re joking,” Charlie says. “…Right? Please tell me you’re joking.”

“My dear, is that a question you would want an answer to?” you ask. “Would you be prepared if the answer happens to be no?”

Charlie sinks deeper into her chair. “Okay, then! Moving on, now.”

Leaning on your palm, you laugh. “My deerly beloved husband wouldn’t give all this information for free,” you say. “What did he ask for?”

“We made a deal.”

Your hands drop to the table. “Oh Charlotte,” you say. “That was a foolish mistake. You don’t know what Alastor does to the so—“

“I still have my soul!” Charlie exclaims, balling her fist. “From Vaggie! From you—his own wife! I did what I needed to do to keep my people safe…Sorry.”

“You shouldn’t be so reliant on Alastor,” you tell her with a small smile. “You can’t trust him.”

“He’s given me no reason no to trust him, and…,” Charlie trails off. “And Alastor is my friend.”

Your smile brightens a bit. “Friend?”

“Yes?” Charlie says. “Everyone at the hotel is my friend, and he’s been a tremendous help.”

You place your hands over Charlies and give it a squeeze. “Convince me to help you.”

“W-what?”

“Alastor isn’t asking me to go play medic in the middle of a warzone.” Your brush your feathers out of your face. “If he was asking, I would say yes without a second thought because that’s who we are, but he isn’t asking me, Charlie, you are.”

Charlie hums, placing a finger on her lips as she thinks. “I heard from Angel that you and Alastor got married whe—“

CRASH!

She grips the table, eyes wide as she looks around. “What was that?”

You take a long and drawn-out sip of coffee, contemplating your choice for marriage. “Nothing to be worried about,” you say. “That was just my television.”

“Your Tv?” Charlie frowns a bit. “Did…did Alastor just throw away your Tv?”

You laugh, swatting your hand in the air. “Not at all!” you say. “It probably tripped out my window—those picture boxes are always so clumsy.”

Charlie raises her eyebrows. “You’re saying that your Tv…just tripped out the window.”

You smile at her. “You were saying something?”

She sighs, massaging her forehead. “You got married when you were alive, but continue to stay together. It’s very rare for Sinners to do such a thing,” she says. “And with all of that…uh…Alastorness.”

“It’s alright, you can just say bat-shit crazy.”

“I’d prefer not to,” she says with an awkward laugh. “So, how were you able to stay together for so long

“Are you…,” you trail off, blinking. “Are you asking me for relationship advice?”

“A bit? If that’s okay,” she says. “Rosie already helped but, well, she did eat her first husband.”

“I don’t think I can be of much help.” Your lips purse. “Alastor and I don’t exactly have the most conventional marriage.”

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

1927

“Do you like it?” Alastor offers you a spoonful of the simmering sauce.

You lean closer, shifting from your seat on his kitchen counter. Alastor dips the spoon in your opened mouth. “It’s spicy,” you say, lips twisting when you cough. “Is it supposed to be like that?”

Alastor tilts his head. A lock of his hair falls to the side. “No…it’s not.” He takes back the spoon and dips it into the pan. Alastor coughs as soon as it hits his tongue. “How many peppers did you add?”

Your legs sway, and the heels of your foot tap the cabinets below you. “I added what was written on the recipe! Exactly twelve peppers.”

Alastor twists the stove’s knob, killing the fire. “Take a look at the notebook again,” he says and reaches over your legs, grabbing his book full of recipes. “If you use these things called ‘eyes’ and ready, you’d be able to see that it says, ‘one to two’!”

“No, it does not!” you huff, grabbing the notebook from him. You read through the list of ingredients. There, near the bottom, pass the four cloves of chopped garlic, half a shallot, and a pinch of pepper, ‘one to two peppers’ is scribbled with blocky letters. “Oh…that’s my bad. Yeah, that’s on me.”

Alastor adjusts his sleeves, pulling it back up his forearm. (Hmm, not a bad look.) “There’s no point in teaching you how to cook this if you don’t know how to read!” he says, eyes twitching. “Go…Just go over there and let me fix this.”

“I already said I was sorry!”

“No, you did not!” Alastor says, throwing his hands into the air. “What you said was,‘Oh…that’s my bad. Yeah, that’s on me’, actually.”

“Yeah, that’s on me,” you repeat with a snort. “That’s my bad.”

“Get out of my kitchen before you ruin dinner.” He leans on the counter, crossing his arms. You hum to yourself. Alastor should pull his sleeves up more. “Go set the table or something. And wash your hair when you get home—it smells like chemicals.”

With a huff, you do as you're told.

You slide off his counter, opening the cabinet and grab two bowls with one arm and reach for the table placemats with the other.

Two sets of utensils, glass cups, and paper napkins. It’s one more set than what you prepare when you’re at your own home. Two…Two. It’s becoming quite the word in your vocabulary.

There’s a proper table waiting to be used in the other room, but this smaller one you’re setting, with its fraying edges and turmeric stains suit the both of you much better.

Three ice-cubes bobble at the top of Alastor’s water. It’s how he likes it. It’s funny. You don’t remember Alastor disclosing this particular information. It’s just something you noticed one day, and you’ve never stopped noticing. What else have you unconsciously learned about him, and what have you unconsciously taught him about you?

Alastor walks to the table, a large steaming bowl in his hands. He places it between the bowls, and you reach into the drawer for a ladle.

The taste tingles your tongue. It’s good. Better than anything you could possibly make for yourself.

You reach into your pocket and toss a handkerchief at Alastor’s face. It lands on between his hair. He tilts his head, shaking it, and the cloth slides on the table. “It’s yours,” you tell him, taking a spoonful of your food. “Thanks for dinner.”

Alastor studies how his name is embroidered in near letters, thumbing the music notes framing it. “Dinner was a way to thank you for this week’s meat.”

He tosses back the handkerchief. It smacks your face.

You peel it from your skin, and trace the letters you’ve threaded during your very scarce free time. “I can’t go around with a handkerchief that has your name on it.”

His smile widens. “Why not?”

“People would think I’m a fan.” You hand Alastor the handkerchief this time. “Just take it as a gift then.”

Alastor takes it from you, and places it into his pocket.

You hum into your spoon with a pleased smile. “Hey Al,” you say. “Tell me what you did today.”

Alastor takes his time chewing and swallowing his food. “As you can see,” he tells you, “I’m eating.”

“I’m bored,” you say. “Eat while you talk.”

He reaches across the table, and his fingers catch on the knob of the radio to turn it on.

Classical music plays out of the speaker. It was correct to assume that Alastor pre-sets radios to play his favorite stations. Although, you didn’t imagine that each of his many radios would have their own specific station. A different radio for different stations. You questioned Alastor about it, but he didn’t say much.

Once the bottom of the bowls has been scraped into your stomachs, you take the dishes and go to the sink.

Your nose scrunches at the sight of the piled dishes. Alastor watches you with a smile. You turn away when you notice.

Alastor takes a container from the cabinet above your head. He’s warm. Always warm.

He takes two containers, placing the leftovers inside. And there it is again, that word—Two. Not one, but two. One for him. One for you. You didn’t ask for leftovers. You’ve never asked at all. Alastor will just hand you the container like it’s the most automatic thing in this world for him to do.

You take the first of many bowls, and rinse the stubborn pieces with your hands. “There’s too many dishes,” you say. “It’s like you have one for every ingredient. Did you really need to use separate ones for each and every ingredient we used?”

He leans on the counter, slotting himself next to you. “I don’t like mixing the flavors until it’s time to add them.”

Alastor adjusts his pulled sleeves and crosses his arms.

The bowl slips from your grip.

“Oh…I…uh…sorry,” you say, picking up the bowl. “I mean, you really didn’t need one for the salt and pepper. They already come in containers—why couldn’t you just, I don’t know, eyeball it?”

“Eyeball it?”

“Yeah, or feel it with your soul or something,” you say and pick up the measuring spoons to show him. “You had to measure three pinches of salt instead of actually just pinching it.”

Alastor laughs, and strands of his hair slide down to his eyes. “And how did it taste?”

Your shoulders slump when you sigh. “Good.”

He bumps his shoulders with yours. “That’s just the way I was taught.”

“Well,” you start, “your way creates more dishes for me to clean.”

Alastor pivots from the counter, and takes his place in front of the second sink. He grabs the dish you’ve already rinsed and sponges it with soap. It’s quite the system you’ve created. You grab a dirty dish, rinse it, and pass it on to Alastor who cleans it with a sponge.

The next minute goes something like this:

Alastor flicks water at your face. You ignore it.

Flick. Ignore.

The water damps your hair. You kick his leg. “Stop that.”

Alastor drenches his hand under the faucet, letting his fingers accumulate water. He flicks it at you.

The grip you have on the plate tightens. “I am going to smash this on your head.”

Alastor raises his eyebrows. He glares. You glare back. He cups his hand under the faucet like a bowl. The water pools between his hands. He throws the water at you. It hits your eyes, blinding you. That does little to stop you.

You grip the plate, swinging it in his direction.

The plate doesn’t connect with anything… Sadly. You rub the water out your eyes, and find Alastor kneeling on the floor with a triumphant smile.

Alastor stands up, brushing dirt from his pants. “You missed.”

“You ducked.”

“I can’t believe you actually did that,” he says. “What if you actually hit me?”

You pass the plate to Alastor before you scratch the urge to swing at that smug smile of his. “Hey Al,” you say. “Tell me what you did today.”

Alastor closes the faucet. “You always ask me that.”

“That’s because you say it in entertaining ways,” you say. “It’s boring to wash the dishes without something to distract me.”

Alastor soaps the dish. “Your lessening attention span worries me.”

You roll your eyes at him, and flick water at his face. “Please?”

“Since you asked so nicely,” he says. “I find myself having no reason to deny you.”

Alastor’s glasses slide down his nose. He leans close enough for you to smell his perfume. He’s warm—always warm. It takes a second for you to understand. You dry your hands on a stray towel, and fix it in place.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

1928.

The metal bench cools the back of your neck.

The sun blinds your eyes, but you keep a steady gaze on the afternoon beams. When was the last time you felt the heat of the sun kiss your skin? As the seconds tick by. As the birds fly above you. As the leaves fall from their stem, melting on this bench seems like a heavenly idea.

But as the clock will eventually strike. But as the birds will eventually find their nest. But as the leaves will eventually land. So, too, must you eventually go back to work.

A shadow blocks the sun.

It takes a second for your eyes to adjust. Alastor’s upside-down face smiles at you. “Good morning to you!”

With a yelp, you swing your forehead forward.

Alastor leans backwards, narrowly missing your head by centimeters. “Not the greeting I imagined, but hello to you as well,” he says. “The receptionist said I could find you here.”

You twist, turning to him with a frown. “Are you okay?”

Alastor slides over the bench, and takes the free seat next to you. His legs cross. “Why would I not be, okay?”

There’s some bag slung over his shoulder, but that’s not important right now. Your eyes trail his body. Hair? Fixed. Smile? Wide. Clothes? Perfect. “You’re at a clinic.”

Alastor swats his hand. “I was in the area.”

That classic city stench attacks your nose, but it’s just nice to feel the way your hair sways from the breeze. “You’re not going to kill me, right?”

Alastor nudges his leg with yours. “You say that every single time!”

Your smile turns smug. “I’ll stop saying it when it stops becoming funny.”

Alastor rolls his eyes, showing it off to you. “It never was.”

“It is to me,” you say and wave your hands in the air. “Just imagine this, the great Alastor had to stalk me!”

“I am great, but remind me again,” he begins, propping his arm on the bench to lean on it, “how long did you have to follow me?”

Sighing, you lean your head on the backrest to count the clouds. It’s nice to be able to see actual clouds for once instead of the drawing of children who wait. “…Three months.”

“Exactly,” he says, and you hear the smugness in his words. “And I didn’t need to do any stalking—you led me straight to your house.”

You blow a raspberry at him. “Why are you even here then?”

Alastor props his legs on your lap. You push him off. He brings it back. It’s not worth fighting him right now. “I actually was in the area,” he says, and hands you the bag slung over his shoulder. “The director thought it would be a grand idea to bring the staff out to lunch.”

You unzip the bag, and packed lunch greets you. And there it is again. Two. Two. Two. One for you. One for him. Maybe both for you? “Al, tell me why I’m currently looking at two packed lunches?”

Alastor beams at you, and slides his legs off your lap. “I accidentally cooked too much today,” he said. “I thought it would be a grand idea to share.”

Your frown. “But…you already ate.”

“Oh…I was already planning on dropping by,” he says. “It was quite the stroke of luck that you’re only taking your break now, and that we happened to have lunch nearby. I thought I’d bring you a treat.”

Questions bubble on your throat. “Thank you, Al,” you say instead. You open the container and take a bite, savoring the taste. “It’s delicious.”

Alastor leans closer, and picks a leaf off your head. “That’s because I actually followed the recipe.”

You point your spoon at him. “That was just that one time!”

He smiles at you, chuckling softly. “Three actually.”

Before the clock strikes, it will tick. Before the birds find their nest, they will fly. Before the leaves hit the ground, it will fall. And before you eventually go back to work, you will eat on this bench, Alastor to your side.

He stares ahead. As you eat, you watch his eyes flicker. It goes from the kid then to a plant then to an old lady. This, you don’t question. You’ve stopped wondering what he could possibly be thinking years ago.

Alastor leans closer to your ear. “Do you see that lady?” he asks, voice low. His breath tickles your skin. “That one over there with the feather on her hat?”

You scan the people around the area, spotting the lady old enough to be your grandmother. A scarf wraps around her neck, despite the sun beaming with the afternoon heat. She lazily walks around. “What about her?”

“Do you think her name could be Edith? She looks like an Edith,” Alastor says. “She probably had three children, and married young when her parents forced her to marry this ugly but rich man she could never love.”

Alastor brought you lunch. Alastor brought you lunch. Alastor brought you lunch. It’s like a mantra that plays in your head. There’s no reason not to play along whatever nonsense he’s spouting. “Sure, why not?”

“But no!” he exclaims into your ear. You jerk away and shove him with an elbow. “Oof….Edith just had to defy all expectations, and she chose to elope with her childhood sweetheart. He’s not the richest man, but they survived.”

“That’s sweet.”

“And to this day,” he says, “everyone still calls her, ‘Edith the Penguin’.”

“Edith the penguin?” you echo. “Now I’m just confused.”

Alastor’s eyes shine. “Because she walks like a penguin with their ass on fire,” he snorts. “Your turn, now.”

Alastor brought you lunch. Alastor brought you lunch. Alastor brought you lunch. Alastor brought you lunch. Alastor brought you lunch. Alastor brought you lunch. Alastor brought you lunch. Alastor brought you lunch. Alastor brought you lunch. And you would love to be brought lunch again.

“Fine.” You place your spoon down, and look around to the first person who grabs your attention. “That little kid over there—His name is Thomas, and he likes balloons.”

Alastor blinks at you. “And?”

You take your time chewing and swallowing your food. “That’s all.”

He gawks at you, and rolls your eyes. “It must be so boring to be you.”

“It is not!” You huff at him, and kick his leg. “I am a very interesting person, I’ll have you know.”

“Oh really, now? Thomas, and he likes balloons?” Alastor says,and points at the kid with twitching eyes. “He’s holding a balloon!”

You wave your arms, the spoon still in your grip. “So, he probably likes it!” you say. “Thomas wouldn’t get a balloon if he didn’t like it.”

“I pity your sense of imagination.”

Alastor brought you lunch. Alastor brought you lunch. Alastor brought you lunch. And you would love to be brought lunch again.

You swallow what remains inside the container, and pack it up. “Is this what you do when you zone out as I’m tal—and you’re doing it again, aren’t you?” you say. “You are an incredibly judgmental person.”

“It’s called using my imagination. Something you apparently don’t have,” he says with a snort. “So…tell me what you did today.”

You raise your eyebrows at him. “That’s my question.”

Alastor shrugs, taking the closed container and zipping it inside his bag. He hands you a tissue. “Well, I’m asking it now.”

You prop your arm on the bench, leaning on it. Alastor’s hair spikes out in odd places today. It must have quite the trek to the clinic. “I’m not as good a storyteller as you are.”

He props his arms on the bench, mimicking your pose. His eyes stare straight into yours. “ I don’t need a story,” he says. “I just want to know what you did today.”

You press your palm on his face, pushing him away from your face. The sun’s heat is really getting to you. Alastor’s nose crinkles as he rubs it. “Why would you even want to know what I do?”

Alastor props his elbows on his knees, observing the people around him. “You always ask me what I did,” he says. “I want to know if there’s something special about it.:

“There’s nothing special about it,” you tell him. Was there actually? You’re not sure. “I just like knowing, and it always entertains me.”

Alastor meets your eyes with a wide smile. “Then tell me what you did today,” he says. “Entertain me.”

The clock ticks closer. The birds are already close to their nests. The leaves are already floating to the ground. You are already close to going back to work, closer to this moment becoming nothing but a distant memory. “That was my first meal of the day.”

Alastor’s eyebrows furrow and his lips twist into a hard scowl. “That’s not healthy.”

You shut your eyes and sigh. “I never said it was.”

“How would you live without me?”

Remember, Alastor brought you lunch, and it would be nice if he could bring you lunch again. “I’m going to hit you.”

Alastor bumps your knees with his. “Lovely,” he says, and you can hear the smile he’s wearing. “I’m sure it will be very painful because you’re so full of energy right now.”

Eyes still shut, you bump his knees back. “I’ve been busy,” you say. “And don’t roll your eyes at me.”

Alastor hesitates for a second. “First of all, we’re all busy,” he says. “Second, I didn’t roll my eyes.”

“You did—it was audible,” you tell him with a soft chuckle. “Anyway, there’s nothing new with my day. It’s just the usual, people to see, files to file, blood to draw, pee to get on me.”

Alastor digs his finger into your cheek, twisting it as he presses down. “Wow, you really are a horrible storyteller.”

You know what, maybe you don’t need Alastor bringing you lunch. You peek open an eye to stare at him. “I’m going to smash a plate on your head once we start doing the dishes.”

Alastor mashes your cheek like some button. Over and over and over and over again. You swat his hand, and he rubs it with a grimace. “Were you planning on dropping by today?”

You place an arm over your eyes, blocking out the sun. “Will I have to do the dishes?”

“You don’t have to specifically do the dishes.”

You comb through your hair with your fingers. “That wouldn’t exactly be fair to you.”

“If you're so insistent, we can find something else for you to do,” he says. “I mean, if you hate it so much you don’t have to do it.”

“I don’t hate it,” you say with a sigh. A church bell sounds. It echoes through the buildings and through the trees. “Al…I’m tired.”

“I know,” he says, and you hear how softly he chuckles. “Your eyes are drooping so low I could fill the entire ocean in them.”

“I want to sleep, Al.”

“I know.”

“I hate this job.”

Alastor pauses for a second, and he bumps his shoulders with yours. “You don’t.”

The clock hasn’t struck yet. The birds haven’t flown to their nests. The leaves haven’t reached the ground. And so too will you stay in this moment of time.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

1929

Footsteps creak on the wooden stairs. The sound is ignored, just like every other thing that isn’t relevant to you.

The dead cadaver under you has weird kidneys. The one on your palm is too small for a kidney that belongs to someone of his size. You take your scalpel, slicing it to observe the cross section.

“It’s time to stop,” Alastor tells you. Ignore. Ignore. Ignore. Him and his smile is not important right now. “You’ve been here all night.”

“Leave me alone,” you mumble. The human body continues to be amazing. The medulla is clearly outlined. The colors of its cells were so different from the cortex. “…Kidneys, Alastor. He has weird kidneys. Hehehehe weird kidneys…”

Alastor says your name in a way that forces you to listen.

“…Oh…yes?” you say a bit dumbly.

“It’s nightfall,” he says, and the tone of his voice buzzes your skin. “Come on now, do as you're told. Be upstairs in fifteen minutes.”

It’s not an easy task to do as Alastor says, especially when this man’s left kidney is a whole different size from the right. However, with a frown, you slot the kidney from the opened chest cavity, and pack up the body.

You step out of the basement, and walk to the kitchen.

There’s a plate waiting for you on the table. It’s still hot. Muffled music plays from the porch, and you see Alastor’s outline through the windows. Taking your plate, you step out the front door and into the outdoors. (Something you really need to start seeing more.)

And oh…he’s not listening to the radio. Alastor plays the recording of his show. It was a present you got him a few months back.

You take your seat on the matching rocking chair.

Alastor watches you settle into your seat. He turns the volume down. “Tables were invented for a reason.”

The chair rocks when you swing your legs. “It’s nice out here,” you say, and take a bite of vegetables. “The sky is much clearer. It helps that there’s no stench of piss.”

He turns to you with a small smile. “That’s because you live in the city.”

The wind blows your hair into your face. You push it out of the way. “Hey, Al,” you say slowly. “Tell me what you did today.”

“Why should I?”

You lean back into the chair, letting the rocking sway you. “Well, you got home late,” you say. “I had to use my keys.”

Alastor leans back on the chair, using the tips of his shoe to rock himself. “Yes, that was the point of the keys,” he says, humming. “It would be a shame to come home to another broken window.”

The taste of the vegetables mixed with the meat makes you smile in delight. “Are you still holding on to that?”

“Always.”

“I paid you back, eventually,” you tell him, pointing your fork at him. “Why are you still holding a grudge for an honest accident?”

On his cheek , where it’s always been and where it’ll always be, his smile strains. “You expect me to believe that a rock smashing my window was an honest accident.”

You offer him your most innocent smile. “Yes.”

“Well, I hope your windows are much sturdier then,” he says, mimicking your smile. “One of these days, I might cause an accident.”

The stars twinkle in the sky. There’s a vast amount of knowledge those gassy balls hold. Maybe your life would be less horrific if you were interested in the stars instead. “In my defense, you were late.”

Alastor pinches the bridge of his nose. “You couldn’t wait fifteen minutes?”

You take another bite of your meal, and sway happily to do a little dance. “Just… okay? Just tell me what you did before I finish my meal.”

Alastor reaches into his pocket and tosses a keychain at you. It lands between your legs.

You set the plate on the coffee table between you, and hold the keychain to the light. It was a cute, little cartoon alligator. “What’s this?”

“It’s yours.”

“I can tell that much,” you say, twirling the gift between your fingers. “You never give me nice knickknacks. It’s always the ugly ones

Alastor huffs at you. “That doesn’t sound like my problem anymore,” he says. “I thought you would appreciate something that looks halfway decent one and for all.”

“I find the ugly ones really charming, actually. They’re very funny to look at,” you say. “So, where did you get this?”

Alastor clasps his hands, resting it on his stomach as he rocks himself. “Saw an advertisement. Went to the zoo.”

You scrunch your face. “That’s all you’re going to tell me?”

“Go finish your meal.”

You pocket his gift, and grab the plate on the table. “Master of storytelling right here, ladies and gentlemen,” you say, barking a laugh. “I figured you would love the excuse of hearing yourself talk.”

Alastor ignores you, reaching for his notepad instead.

You watch Alastor as he writes on his notepad. The breeze sways a strand of his hair. His lips twist when he thinks, just like he’s doing right now

Your eyes fall on your plate, to where vegetables and meat were carefully tossed together. Alastor cooked today— he always cooks. When you finish, you’ll grab the plates, and begin the mountain of dishes. Even when dish soap stings your fingers, even when the feeling of wet food grosses you, and even when thousands of dirty dishes wait for you…it’s something you don’t mind..

Once this meal is finished, you and him will step inside. He’ll properly tell you about his day, and you’ll take the pan and scrub it.

Ah…there it is again. That word—Two.

But it’s not two of anything. It’s simply just two. You and Alastor.

“You’re frowning,” Alastor says. He stares at you from the corner of his eyes. “Why?”

It’s weird.

Very weird.

You don’t…You don’t understand. How do you say the words you do not know how to explain?

It’s almost as if… “We should get married.”

Alastor’s laughter rings across the open land. “No.”

The inside of your cheek stings from how you bite it. You turn away to hide your flushed cheeks. “I…It just came out, okay?” you mumble. “I’m really trying not to be offended that you turned me down without a second thought, and with a laugh as well.”

Alastor turns back to his notepad. “Don’t be,” he says. “I’m nothing you want.”

The moonlight reflects off his brown eyes. “Sometimes…,” you begin, and a small smile appears on your lips. “Sometimes I wish you see yourself the way I see you.”

Alastor laughs at you again. “You’ve been having such thoughts about me?” he says. “What an absolute honor! I’m deeply flattered.”

“And then you say words like that, and I immediately know it’s not worth it

Alastor lifts his eyes from his notepad to peek at you. He fixes his eyeglasses. “You don’t actually think we should get married.”

To be infuriating, you take a bite from your plate, savoring each flavor with drawn out chews.

“I have no idea,” you say. “But…I mean, why not? There are many good reasons for me to marry you—it’s advantages for me, and everyone already thinks we’re dating.”

Alastor turns back to his notepad, shaking his head. “That’s the most absurd idea I’ve ever heard.”

“What, being in a relationship with me?”

“Yes.”

“That’s twice you’ve managed to offend me.” You laugh to hide your frown. “But that friend of yours. The feathery one from the lounge you like taking me to.”

Alastor tilts his head. “Mimzy?”

“Ah yes, her,” you say with a hum. “She asked me if you um…uh… well, if you liked vanilla or hot and spicy.”

“If I had to answer, Id say hot and spicy?” Alastor says, and you laugh at the confusion on his face. “I got a bottle of this pepper flakes infused with old. It was quite the treat.”

“That’s exactly what I figured you would say,” you tell him.“Unfortunately for you, Mimzy was talking about sex.”

Alastor scrunches his face.

Oh don’t make such a face, there is absolutely no need to be afraid of the prospect of such activities.” The final bite of your meal bursts with so much flavor that you revel it for a second. “Al, let’s get married.”

Alastor glares at you. “No.”

You place the plate on the coffee table. It can be washed after this conversation. “Why not?”

He points his pen between you and him..“We aren't even dating,” he says. “And…I can’t express such passionate displays of affection.”

You rock the chair with your shoe. An owl hoots from somewhere beyond the trees. Huh, you weren’t aware owls lived in this area. “Don’t be a child—just say sex.”

Again, his face scrunches. “I will not.”

“It’s a really good thing,” you say, sighing, “that no one’s asking.”

Alastor searches for your eyes. He holds it. It was only ever his to hold anyway. “I’m not even sure I’m interested in romance.”

You look around, whipping your head. “I think I’m missing the part where someone asked.”

“Be serious.”

“Okay fine. This is me being serious because I am when I say that all I don’t need your romance—Al, you accepted me for who I am, and to me? That is enough,” you say with a soft smile. “You are all I could ever ask for.”

Alastor stares at the stars, his eyes capturing each one. “I can’t love you like a husband should.”

The stares are really beautiful.

Each shines in their own way. Alastor sees the beauty in them, but you aren’t going to be beaten by a gas ball. Tomight, you will be the only star Alastor should keep his gaze on. “Alastor, look at me.”

He keeps his eyes on the stars.

Huffing, you stride to his chair, and block his view of the night sky.

You plant your arms on the armrest for support, and inch your face so close that you are the only thing he will see. “Alastor,” you say his name, voice oh so soft, “look at me.”

Oh…his eyes are browner than you thought. It’s a deep and dark brown that pulls you in.

“You can love me in ways that matter.” You press your forehead against his, and close your eyes.

There are more words to be said, but right now you and him stay in this moment of time. Just…for…a second.

“I will never force you to love me in ways you cannot,” you whisper. The ends of his hair brush against your skin. “Alastor, I could never reject the type of love you can offer me. I can never deny you.”

Alastor caresses your cheek with the back of his fingers. “Friends don’t get married.”

Impulsivity was such a bad habit of yours. It’s a fact that makes you bear the consequences, but consequences be damned. You take his hand, holding it in yours. The pads of his fingers have different textures. Some are smooth. Some are rough. But the whole thing warms you to the touch. It’s unfair. He’s unfair. How could something as simple as taking his hand intoxicate?

Your lips hover over his skin, brushing it a little. Alastor doesn’t pull away. With a smile that Alastor always seems to put on your lips, you plant a soft kiss on his ring finger.

“We aren’t normal people. There’s no reason to force ourselves into a conventional relationship.” You meet his eyes with a smirk. Every word you utter brushes your lips yo his skin. “This marriage will be defined however we want. You offer me a partnership in death…This is me offering you a partnership in life.”

You press your lip on the back of his hand, one final time, and return to your chair.

Alastor doesn’t speak.

You rock yourself with your foot, enjoying the sway of the chair.“There is that added benefit that the police won’t be suspicious of a doting husband.”

Alastor scrunches his face. “Doting husband?” he echoes. “I thought we wouldn’t be having a normal marriage.”

“That doesn’t mean a lady doesn’t want to feel special,” you say, snorting. “I’ve always dreamed of a doting husband.”

Alastor rips a page out of his notepad. He folds it with his hands.

His vets match his shoes today. The hair on the back of his head sticks out and curls. Did he take a nap today? “I could be like this every single night,” you say softly. “You and me. The two of us under the stars until our hairs turn gray.”

Alastor’s gaze stays locked on the piece of paper he’s folding. “Why me?”

You stare at him with a smile, and lean your face on your palm. “Does it need to be said?”

Alastor glances at you with those brown eyes of his. “I’m asking.”

“It’s because…It’s…I…,” your trail off. How do you summon the words to describe something you don’t understand?

There’s a smug smile on Alastor’s lips. “What, is it because you love me?”

“Would it be so bad if I did?” you say, chuckling into your arm. “But…well, I don’t exactly know how to properly say this.”

“Just open your mouth,” he says, rolling his eyes, “and let the words do it’s job.”

“I wouldn’t mind doing the dishes with you for the rest of my life,” you tell him, and your cheeks tingle. “Maybe even past life. Can you imagine that? You and me in hell, doing our dishes together.”

There’s an odd look on his face. “Sure.”

“We can listen to the radio,” you say. “And I’ll ask you about your day, and you will tell me the wildest and most grandiose story while we clean a pot.”

Alastor smiles at you. “You hate doing the dishes.”

“I do not.”

“You do. I see it—I always do,” he says with a soft chuckle. Alastor taps his nose. “Your nose scrunches every time, yet you never ask for help.”

What expression are you making right now?

You bring your legs to your chest. “I’m willing to give up everything for dirty dishes if it means I have you as a companion for the rest of my life.”

Alastor turns back to whatever he was folding.

You hide your face in your legs, face flushed and warm. “Say something…please,” you say, whispering. “I just poured out my heart for you

You hear Alastor rise from his seat. He places a hand on your head. “Today’s dinner…,” he says, and his voice is the softest it’s ever been. “Did you like it?”

You smile even if he couldn’t see it, and lean into his hand. “It was one of the most delicious thing I have ever tasted.”

“I wouldn’t mind making it for you for the rest of my life…if you’re willing to wash the dishes with me for the rest of yours,” Alastor says, and you think this is the most honest thing he’s ever told you. “It’s yours. Even if you don’t want it, this is yours now.”

You peek out of your knees. Alastor’s smile is soft. He opens his palms and your eyes flicker to them. He shows you what he’s been folding. It’s the paper of his notepad folded into a ring—a paper ring.

“Do it again,” you say with a beam that could rival the stars. “Ask me again.”

Alastor caresses your cheek, the back of his finger brushing down your skin. “Doting husband?”

“Exactly,” you say with a laugh and lean into his touch. “You catch on very quickly.”

Alastor takes your hand in his, and his thumb brushes over your ring finger. Does he feel your skin the way you feel his? He kneels on one knee and the paper ring is presented to you. “Would you do me the honor of accepting my hand in marriage?”

You insert your ring finger into the paper ring. “The honor would be mine, my dearest.”

Alastor stares at you.

You stare back.

The moment your eyes settle on one another, laughter echoes across the land. It’s loud and breathy, and it echoes so far that the local wildlife gets disturbed. Alastor settles back on his chair, rocking himself.

Alastor calms down first. “Oh…uh…Should we share a passionate kiss?”

The stars shine above you. Not a single gas ball can beat the brightness of your smile. “Do you want to?” you ask. “Be honest, my dear.”

Alastor hesitates for a second. “Not particularly—Do you?”

“Maybe? Sometimes?” you say with a shrug. “I could live a happy life without such passionate kisses.”

“Really?” he says, and the surprise in his voice makes you laugh. “You would be fine without one?”

“Well, since you’re so insistent, I’ll allow a kiss.”

Alastor snorts into the air. “And where and when would you want such a kiss?”

You hold him in your gaze. There’s so much to learn, so much to figure out. It’s alright. There will be time. “Anywhere and anytime, you want, my love.”

“You’re going to give me control?” he asks. “Is this not something you would want as well?”

“I’ll make this easy enough for you to understand,” you tell him, tracing the paper ring around your finger. “I demand a kiss whenever you are completely and perfectly and incandescently happy.”

Alastor hums, looking away to study the woodcarving on his chair. He picks on them. “I supposed if you need anyone to fulfill your needs I only as—”

“Just say sex, my dearest,” you say, and Alastor sinks into his chair with a huff. “That will never happen. This isn’t a friendship, my love. I am entering a relationship with you. No matter how unconventional, it is still ours.”

Alastor locks your eyes with a pleased smile. “Good.”

The rocking chair rocks you into a small lull. “My dear.”

“Yes?”

“My love.”

Alastor sighs. “Yes?”

“My dearest,” you say. “Would you want to share a bed?”

Alastor stays silent. There’s hesitation on his face. You see it in the way his lips twist. You see it in the way his eyebrows furrow. You see it in the way he leans back on his chair to stare at the stars.

“Okay then, we can circle back to that later,” you say with a soft chuckle. “How about a room—Do you want to share one?”

Alastor raises his eyebrows, staring at you with silent judgment. He is a book that you are allowed to learn. There’s so much to read, and so much still left to be read. That’s okay. There’s time. No matter how long. You have time.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that, we can share a room without sharing a bed,” you exclaim, throwing your hands into the air. “We can even have bunk beds. That would be cool. I’ve always wanted a bunk bed.”

Alastor rests his face on his palm to look at you. There it is again, the breathy and light laughter. “We are not sleeping on a bunk bed.”

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

Charlie’s smile slowly morphs into a frow that you cannot decipher. It makes sense that you can’t. Afterall, she is not the book you’ve spent your life learning to read. “You…You don’t actually love each other?”

There’s a frame hanging on your kitchen wall that says otherwise.

It holds an art piece you embroidered for the sole purpose of giving it to your husband. The color of the wooden frame compliments the colors of the thread, as if it was carefully chosen to match. The one here in the kitchen is but one of many frames around the house. Alastor keeps every single item safe beneath the glass to to be admired.

There’s a shelf standing on the living-room carpet that says otherwise.

It holds ugly knick knacks that Alastor bought for the sole purpose of giving it to his wife. It’s a pain to dust the shelves, but not a speck of dirt touches its surface, as if it was carefully taken care of. The one in there in the living-room is but one of many shelves around the house. You keep every item spotless to be admired.

“We’re not heartless,” you say. “Alastor and I don’t have the same relationship you and your girlfriend have.”

Charlie sways in her seat, a hand rests on her chin when she hums. “ I am so sorry,” he says. “I think it’s great and all that, I’m just having trouble understanding.”

“It’s not exactly for you to understand.” You take a sip from your mug.

“So it’s not a relationship,” Charlie says. “Sooooo, is it like a really really deep friendship?”

“The lines between us are so blurry that it’s become deeper than friendship,” you admit with a small smile. “I just know that my soul is connected to him in ways I do not know how to tell him.”

“Is that really possible?” Charlie asks. “To just…love each other so differently?”

“Can our relationship not just…exist?” You lean on your palms. “Do you really think it’s so impossible for two people to just…to just look forward to cooking and washing the dishes together?”

Charlie’s eyes brighten. “I think I’m starting to understand,” she says. “So like—”

“Charlie…if I sit here and answer all of your questions, we’re going to waste time.” You play with the fiddle of your mug. “You didn’t come here for relationship advice.”

“Oh…yes.” Charlie sits there. Her smile slowly falls into a frown. “I’ve been thinking of how to convince you to help me, but…I can’t think of a single thing to say, and I don’t want to force you either.”

You raise your eyebrows. “You haven’t exactly asked for my help either.”

Charlie blinks at you. “…Huh?”

You raise your mug to toast to her. “If you want my help, just ask for it.”

Charlie grabs your hand with a tight grip. “Please, help me,” she says, voice shaking. “I don’t want to drag Cannibal Town into an all-out war without knowing there was a way to keep them safe.”

“Sure, why not?” You pull your hand away.

A loud squeal bounces off the walls.

Charlie pulls you into the tightest hug you’ve ever experienced. She hauls you with all the strength of a hellborn princess. Your feet drag against the floor as she pulls you out of the kitchen and into the living-room.

Charlie drops you with a wince on her face. She stares at the broken window, and the obviously missing television.

You trip out of her hold.

Alastor wraps his hand on your shoulders, steading you against him until you find your balance. His touch lingers on you.

The television shaped hole on your glass window makes your eyes twitch.

Alastor steps away from you, twirling his microphone. It strikes the floor with a harsh thunk. “Oh, yes that,” he says. “It seems there was an unfortunate accident.”

“Oh, really now?” you say, placing a hand on your hips. “I would love to know exactly how that happened.”

Alastor’s smile widens, and his arms wave the air. “The clumsy boxed tripped right out the window.”

Your smile strains. “…That is rather unfortunate,” you say. “What a shame, I rather liked that television. It’s been a constant companion, and never has it once disappeared on me for several years.”

Alastor glares at you.

You glare back.

“I would love to help you clean this mess,” Alastor says with that triumphant smile of his.

Would a second broken window be worth trouble if it means there would be an Alastor-shaped hole?

“Perfect!” you say. “I’m sure you still remember where we keep the broom.”

Alastor boops your nose. “Unfortunately, the cannibals will be meeting us at the hotel,” he says. “I think it’s time we take our leave. Say goodbye to my wife, Charlotte.”

Charlie opens her mouth to correct him. She changes her mind at the last minute, choosing to sulk with a wave instead.

Alastor opens the door, allowing Charlie to step out first. She strides to the flowerbeds, kneeling to observe the plants.

Alastor stills by the door frame.

He inches close enough for you to reach him. The fabric of his lapels smoothen as you adjust its fit on him.

A breeze tussles Alastor’s hair. You swipe the stray locks, brushing his hair away from his forehead, until…until the x that marks the gunshot catches your eyes. Frowning, you thumb the mark, caressing it with oh so soft touches. There was a time where you believed that you and him had all the time in the world. Death laughed at you that night.

Alastor watches you, taking your wrist to pull it away.

He leans closer, and picks a feather on your head. “Will you indulge me?” he asks. “There’s just something I want to ask of you before I leave.”

“Say it, and it will be yours.”

Alastor pokes his cheeks, mimicking a smile. “Just one of these from you will do—Something to power me through the day.”

With a soft chuckle, you widen your lips to show him the brightest smile you can muster. “Is that much better, my love?”

Alastor presses a kiss on your cheek. “Indeed,” he says. “You’ve been frowning for a while now.”

Your eyebrows furrow. “Have I?”

Alastor boops your nose. “You have,” says. “What’s troubling you, my dear?”

“It’s nothing serious to you,” you tell him with a shake of your head. “It’s nothing worth listening to.”

Alastor taps his fingers across his microphone. “It’s not nothing. Especially when you frown like that,” he says. “If it’s serious to you, it is worth listening to.”

“Sometimes…I still find myself wondering how you feel,” you say, smoothening the feathers on your head “Even after being married for so long, there are times where I still do not know

“You’re not a mind reader,” he says. “If you want to know, you should just ask.”

“Alright then,” you say with a smile. “How are you feeling today, my love?”

Alastor caresses your cheek. The back of his fingers brush down your skin until it hooks around your chin. You tilt it to the side, offering your cheek, ready for him.

Alastor tugs your chin, adjusting your face until your eyes are drawn into his own. And oh…Has he always looked at you like this?

Alastor inches closer, his nose nudging against your own. Your heart thumps in your ear.

A minute has never felt so long as you stay frozen. It’s a whole minute if his lips brushing inches above yours. It’s a whole minute of his finger stroking the skin of your chin. It’s a whole minute of feeling his breath on your skin. It’s a whole minute where inches of space separate your

Alastor tortures you with the simplest of sensation that intoxicated you to your very core. You don’t move away, not from him—never from him.

Your eyes close when Alastor presses his lips across yours.

The taste of this morning’s coffee is dizzying. The soft tickles of his breath make your fingers curl around the fabric of his coat. You were never a poet. It’s Alastor who was better with his words. You cannot describe the way he kisses you with sweet metaphors or soft analogies.

Alastor pulls away.

You inch closer to chase him, until self-control takes over. It splashes you with the warmth of a bucket filled with ice.

Oh…oh.

There are words to be said, questions to be asked. The heat tingling of your cheeks and the electricity buzzing your lips make it hard to find the words.

You bury your face into the fabric of Alastor’s chest, curling into him to hide how red your face flushes. The back of his coat crumples when you grip it.

Alastor wraps his arms around you, tightening the hug. His finger stroke your shoulder blade. “Does that answer your question?”

You inhale into his clothes. It’s warm. He’s warm. So warm that int transfers to you. “No, not at all,” you mumble. “Where did you learn to do that?”

Alastor leans back, pushing you away to search your face.He stares at you.

You stare at everything but him.

Alastor squishes your cheek, giving it a light shake. “Stop demanding things from me when you’re not going to remember.”

“I did no such thing.” You swat his hand away. “Will I be seeing you soon?”

Charlie catches your eyes. She quickly glances away before eventually looking back. You bring out your hand, folding your fingers to indicate the number two. Charlie cringes so deep she creates a double chin.

Alastor brushes feathers out of your face. “You wouldn’t need to ask if you accepted Charlie’s offer to stay at the hotel,” he says. “ I was given a room there. I think you would like it…but, there’s still thousands of unused rooms if you wish to stay somewhere else.”

“My deerest, are you asking me to stay at the hotel?”

Alastor’s silence makes you chuckle.

With the tips of your toes, you reach to press a kiss on his cheek. “I will see you soon.”

“You always will.”

Charlie and Alastor leave with a wave. You close the door before they reach the gate, leaning on the door. The wood does little to settle the way your skin buzzes. Demand a kiss? You would never do such a thing.

The clock strikes. It’s time to leave for work. You take your coffee mug, scrubbing it with soap. (If you drop it twice, then that’s your business.) You open the cupboard, placing your matching mug next to Alastor’s clean one.

Today…Today will be a good day.

For today, there’s no need to throw away cold coffee mugs.

First of all, you will never catch my Alastor cooking jambalaya. It’s a great dish, I know. But I refuse to fall into the curse. Part of the reason why this chapter took so long to publish, besides work getting in the way, was because I didn’t know how I would want Alastor and Reader to love each other. Like do I make it purely romantic? But I like keeping this as canon as possible. And I know that Alastor is only canonically ace. This problem struck me until I realized that to be accepted is to be loved. So I decided to write a story that will make me happy to show you. There are so many other fics with pure romance, and I wanted to respect Alastor’s asexuality and everyone who relates to him. This is my love letter to him and to you. Also, I’m just going to put it out there, just in case someone might ask why there’s a kiss on the lips? This is a reminder that you can define a relationship any way you could want. I debated whether that kiss should be on the cheek or on the lips. A cheek kiss isn’t inherently romantic, so I could have just done this. The lip kiss just felt…correct. I wanted to showcase that the relationship between Alastor and Reader isn’t a conventional one, and that it’s fine to have one that differs from what is considered normal. So the best way would be to take something that everything thinks is very romantic and twist it in a way that it could mean something different. And thus, any kiss before and after this chapter really just means that Alastor is completely and perfectly and incandescently happy.

Taglist: @mybrainautocorrect @ray-rook @teavibesaf @valentique @qardasngan @tobyisher3 @amoraneuro @okay-babe @holymusicialmothman @lyralibra @alastorssimp @aestheticglas-blog @slaggylemon

#alastor x reader #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #alastor #alastor hazbin hotel #alastor the radio demon #alastor x wife!reader #alastor x you #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel x you #alastor x wife reader #Alastor #radio demon

144 notes · View notes

hanafubukki · 1 month

Note

Hana, I was drawing baby Silver for a little project I’m working on, and I kept thinking about you! 🤣🤣 I then drew this for you, but I also found myself liking this so much that I want to include it in my comic as a panel somehow. A happy accident? 💖 🌸

Also, the cereal goes first! 🤧🤧🤧 🥣 🥛

Hello Kallisto 💕💚🌺

I have the widest smile on my face Kaliisto Crowley. I hope you know that. 🥹💕💕 The fact that you were thinking about me and drew this for me 🫂🫂💕💕💕 ahhhhhh I think I can take on ten men with how much energy and giddiness I am filled with 💚💚💚💚

And this ART IS CUTE AND PRECIOUS AND I WANT TO HOLD IT PRECIOUSLY.

Lilia so handsome and happy. Smiling and enjoying life. At peace in his cottage core life 🥹💞💞

CUTE AND PRECIOUS BABY SILVER. So adorable with his clothes and watching his papa out the window 🥹🥹💕💕💕 and his cute little “o” face when a bird with a hat and a key comes to him.

I wonder what he was surprised by more? A bird visiting him that he never saw before?? Or one with a hat and key??

That Crowley!Bird is very charming Kallisto. It reminds me of that snow Crowley bird you made back in winter 🩵🩵 does he have a cute mask too??

Lilia turn around, there’s a questionable bird near your son 😂🤣 though Crowley reminds me of the bird that helped take care of Aurora in the live action movie 🥹🩵💚

You’re not helping my baby fever Kallisto 🤣🤣

A project you say?? 👀👀 I can’t wait to see what you are working on 🥳🩵

Definitely a happy accident especially if we can see more of your art 🥰💚💚💕💕 I can’t wait to see what comic you draw with this 🌺🌺💚💚

I will have to disagree with you there my dear Crowley connoisseur, I think whatever is closest to you should come first. Now if that’s milk or cereal is up for debate. Because sometimes milk is closer and sometimes the cereal is 😈😌🫶

…you have no idea the amount of times I’ve been called heathen or I have “betrayed” someone for saying milk first 🤣🤣🤣

#answered #🌺kallisto🌺#kallisto your art is beautiful has always it’s so soft it makes me want to cuddle with it or take a nap #it just relaxes you with the brush lines and #and the gentle strokes 🥹🥹💚💚💚#lilia vanrouge #twst silver #🌷gifts🌷#dire Crowley the bird #🌷others art🌷#🌷art recs🌷

69 notes · View notes

jean0farc · 3 months

Text

‎ ‎‎Honor Among Thieves

Captain Hook x Fem! Reader | 2.5k

⎯⎯ summary ‣‣‣ “On an ordinary summer day my friends and I are having fun at the beach when suddenly Captain Hook and his pirates come seemingly out of nowhere and attack, causing chaos. I try to escape, even so much as to reach the car my friends and I used to get there, but I get caught and by one of the pirates and taken.”

⎯⎯ content warnings & tags ‣‣‣ dubcon, penis in vagina sex, creampie, fem! oral receiving, dom! Hook, body worship, fingering, breast kink, praise, dirty talk and pet names.

⎯⎯ requested by ‣‣‣ the wonderful @disney-girl67.

⎯⎯ banner credits ‣‣‣ the lovely @cafekitsune.

The intensifying heat of the sun today was rather unbearable for my liking—I had to make sure the amount of sunscreen I applied was just right for my skin in regards to basking in the summer heat. Thankfully, my best friends had some spare bottles of lotion perfect for our trip to the beach. We’ve packed just the best meals suitable for our picnic date; it’s been a while since we’ve taken a week off of an exhausting day of work, and an opportunity arose when we were given a discount to a beach getaway!

I drew a satisfying breath, taking in the fresh breeze that blew from the east side of the coast. Apart from the overwhelming heat of the sun, it was quite refreshing to take a time off of the monotonous city where industries and businesses collided in chaos. The palm trees danced lively by the breathtaking view, the birds chirping happily as we booked a stay at the chalet nearby.

“So, Ashley, what do you think of this spot so far?” I asked.

“It’s perfect,” my friend smiled. “Summer is a godsend, especially these days. The weather may be humid, but other than that their services are properly managed. I can’t stand always having to work under our boss lately. So I’ve decided to take a leave!”

“May I add that this particular sea stands out because there’s lots of treasure underneath.” my other friend commended. “Rumors say there used to be pirates here, but I believe they’re long dead after getting shipwrecked.”

“Pirates?” I asked, sitting upright, fixing my bikini. “Wait, are you saying, this place isn’t safe for visitors like us?”

“Relax, friend,” my other friend spoke, laughing. “It’s just a scary story spread all across this village. I’m sure that with all the legal authorities becoming more aware of the troubles they cause, they're probably thrown into prison by now.”

“Good, good.” I replied.

“Anyways, I think now is the right time to go in for a dive! The deeper, the better!”

“Wait, guys, but-“

My friends ignored me this time. They left me without any explanation to stay, leaving me to rot in my own thoughts of whether there were potential thieves roaming around the place. But I’ve decided I won’t back down. I left the patio, without any other reason to make excuses for why I refused to go in for a swim. Out of guilt, I just kept on going, leaving all my worries behind.

My friends and I ran towards the seaside, happy and carefree of the world’s stressors. We even threw some handfuls of sand at each other and splashed some seawater the moment we went for a swim.

I found it difficult to keep up with my friends this time, the way they swam around the beach and took pictures of the glittering waters. But I dared not to be a killjoy as of this moment, I complied with their requests to have fun regardless.

As we swam recklessly by the sea, I noticed the sight of a large, wooden ship approaching from a distance, seemingly approaching towards us. I felt all along that my gut instinct was right. I tried my best to not falter at first, but knowing they could kill if we didn’t surrender our belongings was something I was truly terrified of.

“Ashley! Lottie! Mary!” I called out. “There’s a ship approaching! Let’s gather around and leave!”

“[Name], you’re being incredibly ridiculous.” my friend Mary laughed. “Those can’t be pirates! It looks like a normal ship!”

“But-“

My friends ignored my pleas, so I had no other choice but to leave the seaside. I was deathly worried about their wellbeing since pirates aren’t to be trusted regardless, but I started to give less fucks about others and focus on my own needs. This is it. I left my friends and made my way back to the beach house, running half naked and sweaty from the intense blanket of heat that filled the air.

“Take a closer look, Murphy,” scoffed a pirate from the ship as he used his binoculars to zoom into the sight of my friends swimming. “We eating good tonight, aren’t we?”

“Damn right. Nothing more than a bunch of bombshells worth taking in for the night.” Black Murphy laughed loudly. “James will surely be having fun by the end of the day. From what I understand, he’s already by the shore holding some random bitch hostage.”

“Right! Hah. The Captain should consider himself lucky.”

And there I was. I finally arrived at the beach house, surprised to find the door to our room locked. Pleas of someone could be heard from inside, and I didn’t know what to do other than bang the door from outside. The voice was muffled, which made me realize that whoever the captor was turned out to be someone not to be messed with.

My heart raced upon this discovery. Who could have possibly thought there was someone else inside the compound? I tried using all of my strength to open the door. I tried, and tried, and tried…..

And with all my brute force, I managed to successfully pry the door open. I was then met with an unexpected scene.

There in the corner of the room stood a tall, dark figure dressed in red, while his other hand was replaced with some sort of hook. He apparently was holding some sort of knife with his other hand, and it turned out that the identity of who he just killed was the manager of the beach house me and my friends stayed in. The figure took a step forward, revealing himself to be none other than a pirate captain.

I tried to leave, but another one of his pirates grabbed me by the wrists from behind, pushing me to the ground and swiftly locking the door from outside. It was unknown as to how this happened, but I knew from the bottom of my heart that this was coming.

“Looking as gorgeous as you always were, lovely stranger.” the pirate spoke softly. “Say, are you perhaps here for a trip?”

“Um, yes?” I hesitantly replied. “Who could you be?”

“That doesn’t matter, my dear. In fact, your name doesn’t matter to me either. Say, what are your thoughts about a relationship of give and take? Worry not, for I won’t harm you, as long as you do exactly as I say.”

“Huh????”

“I came here to claim five million bucks from this entire resort. Provided you and your friends do exactly as we please, your lives shall be spared.”

“What???!!!” I protested, attempting to get up and reach for the door behind me. “No, I must have known…!! You-you must be the captain!!! Please, captain, spare our lives!!!”

“Why, if it isn’t the right answer, hm? My name is Captain Hook, I also go by the name James. Though this info won’t matter by the time I’m done with you.”

I froze, unsure of how to react in the face of such a threat. I attempted to stand up, only for the captain to kneel on one knee and unfasten my bikini straps.

“Please…..” I begged. “Let me go! I’ll do anything!!!”

“Is that so? Why then, don’t resist.” Captain Hook smirked.

I frankly hated how this was turning me on.

He moved his hook down my breasts, groping it with the thin piece of metal while his other hand caressed my cheek.

“Such a beautiful, sensitive little thing.” he cooed. “Gods must have sent you to serve as my personal pet.”

Tears formed in my eyes as I disobeyed his request and resisted the captain’s touch, only for him to pull me inward. He kneaded on my breasts gently and leaned closer to suckle on my nipples, which was already hard at the sight of his tall stature. He swirled his tongue around it, moaning gently as the sounds of sloppy slurps filled the room.

I hated how good it made me feel. I shivered at the thought of a random stranger’s face up my breasts, but there was no denying that he was extremely good at it. A part of my mind wandered on the scenario where he claimed a number of bodies. From the charm of his facial hair surrounding his features, to his enigmatic smile, it left me with chills—and they weren’t exactly that of the bad type.

He didn’t stop, oh, he didn’t. The more I held back a moan, he just kept sucking in long slurps that left me soaking in my arousal. My breath hitched at the sight of his unshaved face lapping and salivating against my breasts, carefully caressing it as he pulled away.

“Mmmmmhhhh~”, I groaned in frustration.

“What a cute, desperate pet.” Captain Hook whispered. “If all it takes for you to grow wet is to have someone suckle on those stress balls, then you must be a really needy whore after all.”

“Please……I need it….I need it so bad!!!” I protested, desperate for release.

“Eager for my cock?” Captain Hook asked. “Well, you might want to exercise a little patience, my dear. Good things don’t always come in easy packages. Now, let’s take this off from you, shall we?”

With that, he tore my panties off with a clenched fist, leaving my naked form to sulk in hopelessness and frustration. He wasn’t the type to give warnings, for he was quite straight up with what he wanted to do. He was all powerful. That only gave way for me to feel worthless and pathetically needy for his touch.

“Mmmmmm……already this wet? Hah. How pathetic.”

He didn’t give warnings, indeed. I knew he had it in him when he dove into my cunt, kissing the nub gently as he rubbed his finger against it. I felt as if I was about to squirt too early, but I held it in. Then comes the hard part. The fingers. He stuck two fingers in me, forcing his way in without any form of lube or prep. With the burning pain slowly melting away into pleasure, I let him swirl his tongue around my clit without any form of inhibitions after all. The captain yapped and lapped at my vaginal fluids, overflowing to an extent of it streaming down my cunt. It felt warm, pleasurable, and on top of all that, I felt like I was about to catch feelings for the man.

His digits began curling upward, making me wince at the length of his fingers, yet still aroused. The slight curve didn’t bother me in the slightest. It felt so good, and I for once didn’t mind squirting and cumming all over his face for all I cared.

“Ahhhh, I’m close,” I moaned. Captain Hook drove his mouth deeper, giving my clit a rough suck before pulling away. Leaving my entrance gaping with fluid, he chuckled smugly.

“You taste divine, pet. Hmmm….I think you’re ready to take all of me now. Just relax.”

Captain Hook let go of my figure, turning to his pants as he pulled the upper section down. I wasn’t expecting the sight of at least ten inches of trouser action, and I grew hopelessly frustrated by the fact that it still wasn’t shoved deep in me.

“Now, now, dear.” Captain Hook spoke. “This won’t be lasting quite long. After all, you’re already this close.”

Spreading my legs wider, the captain rubbed my clit with his cock, enabling me to make use of my energy in humping right back. I held the throbbing length, and felt its texture before he slipped it right inside me with force.

”AGH!!” I squealed.

“What, don’t you like it?” Captain Hook asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Keep going….It burns, but, keep….going!”

“I see. Well, then who am I to deny you what you want.”

With one thrust, he drove his cock inside me and started to slowly rock in and out of my cunt. It felt euphoric, really, the way he handled me roughly and recklessly without any filter. To compensate for his efforts of ramming through my walls, I fucked him back.

My breasts wobbled as my body grew used to the pleasure judging from the growing speed of his thrusts. He was brutal, violent, just like any other pirate would be when faced with an incoming threat. Gripping my cheeks tightly, Captain Hook used his superior strength to lift my limbs upward to gain a better access towards my core. He kept hitting, and hitting the spot, so much that I could feel myself cumming in less than five whole minutes. I arched and mewled against his grasp, the sounds of skin slapping against skin becoming more apparent. I began to develop no care for whoever overheard our little affair going on. All I needed was to reach completion at the hands of this charming stranger.

Captain Hook was also growing desperate over time. His moans grew more animalistic, muttering a ‘yes’ repeatedly as he was about to lose composure. When I felt a tinge of pleasure spark from within my heated core, that was when he chose to pick up speed. He then leaned closer to feel my neck with his face, leaving hickeys all over as he continued to bite down the layers of thin skin. I yelped in pain for a moment as the sensation slowly turned into pleasure the way he bit on the right spots.

If only he could see my face right then and there, I would have been humiliated from that point onward. Then he did.

“Ah, ah, ah, no looking elsewhere.” Captain Hook muttered under his breath, panting hard. “Eyes on me. Show me how much you crave this feeling.”

“I—Mmmmmmhhhh….!!! Please, I’m….I’m gonna…..”

“Hold it off, little one. Have your master do all the work.”

With all his strength, Captain Hook grabbed my hips tightly, the hilt of his cock ramming in and out of my heat. The slaps against my ass were wet and loud, our moans matching each other like a symphony.

“Agh!!!! Captain!!!” I trembled in excitement. “Ahhhhh~”

I wailed his name (James) as Captain Hook thrusted so deep into my core. My walls fluttered and throbbed hard that it was almost a crime for him to pull out of me. I shook against him, crying like a bitch in heat as I felt like the whole world had just shattered before my eyes. Captain Hook spurted his seed balls deep in me, his cum surrounding itself all over my dripping cunt. I let out a deep sigh, realizing the whole mess I’ve been engaging with in the company of a complete stranger.

“Hah……Hahhhhh……..”

Captain Hook didn’t even budge, his cock already retreating from my walls in a slow, yet steady fashion.

“Such a filthy, disgusting little mutt.” he said, putting his cock back in and leaving me to sulk by the edge of the doorstep. “Get up.”

Captain Hook grabbed my cute, pink bikini, tossing it before my face.

“What is your name?”

“[Name].”

“You did well, [Name],” he said. “Judging by the looks of it, you owe me several nights of complete entertainment. Come outside when you’re ready. I’m more than willing to bring you into my ship.”

#captain hook disney #captain hook x reader #captain hook x you #disney villain x reader #x reader #dubious consent #disney x reader #disney smut #peter pan smut #captain hook

65 notes · View notes

giggly-squiggily · 1 year

Note

I headcannon that Hawks is feather ticklish. I imagine him as this laid-back guy who has a wicked love if using his feathers to tickle unsuspecting villains into submission... bur is actually super ticklish himself and can even be tickled by his own feathers

Headcanons To Dabbles: Officially CLOSED!

Oh my god YES! Hawks beloved- being sensitive to his own feathers akrjkaerkjaerkjarkje This is delightfully mischevious- I've gotcha covered, friend!

Hawks lived for chaos.

Especially the tickly kind.

The issue that came with it though? He always toed the line of risk and reward, playing with fire-quite literally.

“Well well.” The flame spoke back to him one day, feather caught in hand and twirled around a few times. “Now who’s got the power, pretty bird?”

~~~ “How is it you’re covered in these things and yet are still so sensitive to them?” Dabi mused, sitting on Hawk’s thighs as he dragged the stolen feather up and down the blonde’s back, making him squirm and cackle beneath him. “I’m barely even touching you and you’re acting like I’m trying to kill you.”

“Thahhahahahat’s becahhahahhause you ahahhhahahre! Geahhahahahhahaha, Dahhahahahbi, plehahahahhahsae!” Hawks squealed out, feet kicking the best they could as he buried his face in the nearest pillow. He just had to try and tickle Dabi today, didn’t he? The opportunity was there, but so was the risk, and Hawks laughed in the face of such a thing as he drew his feathers.

And now it was laughing back at him. Lovely.

“Huh- maybe it’s the whole “Can’t tickle yourself thing”, yeah? That’s why you're immune?” Dabi considered out loud, swirling the feather behind Hawk’s ears and earning a squeal. “Wouldn’t be much of a hero if you reacted like this every time you went to fly.”

“Yohoohhohou shuhuhuuht your mohohoohuth! Geahhahahahaha-AHAHHAA NOOHOOHOHOHOOHO!” Hawks’ squirms intensified when Dabi dragged the feather along the base of his wings, the movement slow and deliberate. “NOOHOHOT THEHEHEHHEHEHERE!”

“Oo, looks like the bad spot’s even worse with these.” Dabi snickered, dragging it again and again over the spot as Hawks’ laugh turned silent. “Aww, where’s my song, pretty bird?” He switched back to dragging it along the blonde’s ribs, earning a booming cackle. “There it is! That’s right- sing for me.”

Hawks learned to be more picky about his risks going forward.

#headcanons to dabbles #hawks #dabi #dabihawks #tickle #tickle dabble #mha/bnha #fluff #*screaming crying dancing around*#I love Hawks being feather ticklish akjerjarkjaekjr #Dabi is evil in this one whoops-

221 notes · View notes

rosileeduckie · 4 months

Text

Mean, but Sweet

After all this, I don't know, the naughty list doesn't seem so bad...

Patton can be very mean, if it makes someone else happy 😈💙

Potential warnings: none. Sanders Sides, Janus/Patton tickle fic.

A Squealing Santa Christmas gift for @trashyswitch! Hoping it's worth the wait, and wishing you the happiest new year! 😊😘 Thanks so so so much @squealing-santa Hypah our hero for hosting this year!! Lots of love for everyone who participated; congrats everybody!! ❤❄

Word count: 6,406

~*~

There’s something very attractive about winter. The season is uniquely deep and dark, and Janus can’t help but thrive when there are shadows aplenty, easy to hide in and hide things in. A societal expectation to make nice with everyone also leads to the hilarious sight of people performing their “best life” routine by lying through smiling teeth and juggling a million more responsibilities that, no, they definitely don’t need help with. What could he say, it all made Janus feel very at ease, in the presence of deceit wrapped in pretty paper.

But, then, he wasn’t so cynical this year. He blamed his cohorts for melting his too-small heart over the course of the year to the point where he could now appreciate the whimsy that twinkling fairy lights give to a chilly winter evening. Still dark, but warm, too.

Metaphorically and literally warm–it was not quite a winter wonderland outside the house. Still, the lower temperature and earlier sunset and merry decorations and seasonal flavors in Janus’ mug and the obnoxiously patterned and colored sweater on his body really did make it feel like Christmas. Certainly, the Mind Palace could have been nestled in a snow globe setting if the Sides so desired, but they were partial to their host’s house in Florida. It wasn’t a white Christmas, but it was cozy and homey and–Janus could begrudgingly admit–nice.

Janus was skillfully juggling two mugs as he walked into the living room. In one hand, he carried a peppermint mocha in a plain red vessel, simple and hot. In the other hand, he held a mug covered with scenes of snowmen decorating a pine tree with little birds. The contents of that mug were just as extravagant and sweet: gingerbread spiced hot cocoa completely obscured beneath a layer of marshmallows, whipped cream, and sprinkles.

When Janus set the dessert in a cup on the coffee table, Patton looked up and smiled, his eyes really sparkling under the lights of the room’s opulent tree beside which he sat. The mug was just the newest addition to Patton’s station at the coffee table. Before him were a few sheets of notebook paper, a quill and ink, and a desk lamp and extension cord, which Janus stepped carefully over to sit on the couch just behind Patton.

“Aw, Janus!” Patton beamed, setting down his quill to reach for the mug. “Thank you!”

Even if the gap was seeming to narrow these days, Janus couldn’t help but marvel at how different he and Patton were sometimes. What an easy but incredible show of trust; any of the other Sides would have asked Janus what he wanted in return for such a thoughtful and good deed. (He would have answered “nothing,” but whether or not that was true, who could say?) “Not a problem,” Janus replied, taking a sip of his own drink. “How’s the naughty list looking this year?”

Patton giggled. He had a mustache of sweet fluff on his lip as he set down his mug and drew his quill. “Oh, I can’t say about that. But I do know Santa will have lots of ideas as to what to get you kids if you DO stay on the nice list.” He dipped the quill tip in his inkwell, humming with an audible grin. “Of course, I can’t imagine why you WOULDN’T be on the nice list…”

Janus crossed one leg over his knee and tapped his foot in a subtle but delighted rhythm. “Patton, lying at this time of year?” he tutted. “That nice list is slippery, you know. And lying around me, no less.” Janus leaned forward enough that the hissing chuckle that spread his lips into a smile could tickle Patton’s ear. “Is that my Christmas present?”

Ducking out of reach with a snort, Patton replied, “It’s not lying if I believe you all deserve the best gifts.” He turned to give Janus a boop on the nose with the fluffy end of his quill. “And it’s NOT the gift I have written down, I’ll have you know.”

For a moment, Janus’ eyes caught on the feather–a beautiful thing of blue and iridescent greens and purples that felt as soft as it looked–but curiosity shook him free, and he looked past the writing tool, blurring the beautiful colors as he focused his gaze on the page of just-dry ink. “It’s not?”

“Hey now!” Patton threw out his arm and leaned to one side so as to block Janus’ view. “No peeking!”

Undeterred, Janus didn’t fall back, just snickered and looked at Patton levelly. “What? I hardly need to know what you think I need for gifts.” He rested his chin in his hand, batting his eyelashes and tapping his cheek with his index finger. “But, say, what if I need ideas for our gift swap with the others? You know how hard Logan is to buy for.” (Untrue; Logan wasn’t hard to buy for, just irritatingly specific, which took out all the fun of surprising someone with their gift. Janus did love a good surprise.)

Eyes narrowed, Patton considered this before shaking his head and turning back to his makeshift desk. “No peeking,” he reiterated firmly. “Sensitive information here, for no one’s eyes but Mr Claus himself.” He paused, musing, then smiled. “Or his secretary. He is a busy guy.”

Janus nodded with a humoring hum. He sipped his coffee, nonchalantly scooting on the couch to be closer to Patton. If the scribe noted the movement, he didn’t mind, even leaning back against Janus’ calf and continuing to write. Janus waited a moment, then another, letting Patton’s guard slowly fall. The snake was hardly invested in letters to Santa Claus, but he did enjoy teasing and getting a rise out of Patton. And, who knows, maybe Janus would end up with someone with a scant wish-list and need a gift idea or two to fall back on. When the air felt calm enough to chance it, Janus leaned forward to peek over Patton’s shoulder.

Quick as a cobra, Patton had whirled around, brandishing his feather quill at Janus. “AH!” he admonished, tipping his head to one side and flashing a warning smile. “You better watch out.”

“You better not cry,” Janus replied with a smirk, leaning back a bit with his hands and mug raised placatingly. “Or what, Patton dear?”

Patton’s lower lip puffed out thoughtfully, and he hummed, clicking his tongue a few times. Janus waited, eyebrows raised and lips crookedly elevated. Then, Patton’s scrunched up thinking face relaxed before brightening into a big smile. He didn’t answer Janus’ question, just turned back to his list. Moreover, he didn’t move away but stayed close enough to be leaned up against Janus’ leg and, potentially, surely, observed by Janus’ looming eyes. The risk was worth the reward, and it would have been punishment to both of them to move apart. (It was nature for a Side, however deeply buried; even the prickliest of them liked company and a cuddle. And pushing their luck.)

Janus took a long sip from his drink and sighed, opening his mouth exaggeratedly wide both because it felt nice and because it tended to freak out any Sides who saw. He leaned forward, reaching purposely past Patton to set down his mug on the far side of the coffee table, securing for himself the perfect view of Patton’s cursive scrawl as well as the ideal perch to view it from, his chin resting upon the soft sweater fabric of Patton’s shoulder. Actually, it was cozy enough there, warm and soothing to the tune of Patton’s breathing and humming, and hard enough to read Patton’s handwriting from that distance, that Janus was content to close his eyes and not even try to peek. So he jumped a little, blinking in confusion, when Patton spoke again, but not quite to his current companion.

“‘And what do I ask of you dear Janus? Well, Santa, that’s quite simple. For my dear Janus, I want him to get the biggest and best–’” Patton paused, striking through the last word of his dictation with a flourish. “‘–the WORSE lee mood for Christmas.’”

Patton glanced sideways at him and smiled when Janus snickered. His head bobbed a bit atop the pleased wiggle that shook Patton’s shoulders. It wasn’t exactly a difficult thing to ask for for Christmas. The Sides, different as they could be, could all find fun in being tickled or making someone else laugh, so moods longing for one or the other were not uncommon. Sure, Virgil was more likely to be yearning for an onslaught of gentle belly tickles, whereas Remus would be more often found with fingers twitching in hopes of digging up screams from between someone’s ribs, and Logan could slide back and forth along that scale in a second. But still, it was a safe bet that someone in the Mind Palace was hoping to be or happy to be tickled. Because even if, somehow, no one was actively in a lee mood, one could pretty easily be teased out. Janus fell in the middle of the chaos, fluid like Logan in the part he was ready to play–tickle monster or squealing victim–and not one to be easily teased into a mood–not to be knocked over with a feather, so to say. Sure, seeing Patton twirl his feather quill thoughtfully and being actively threatened with a lee mood–not even being tickled, just infected with the desire to be–may have flustered Janus well enough, but he was cozy enough where he sat to weather the attack. So he only smiled, smug, closing his eyes and staying cuddled up, however awkwardly leaning, up against Patton’s shoulder.

Perhaps he shouldn’t have been so trusting.

“‘The kind of lee mood that makes you feel so warm and giddy and fuzzy,’” Patton went on, and Janus could hear the big smile around his words, “‘like just thinking about being tickled makes you feel tinsel between your toes and snowflake soft feathers on your belly. I want him to be so happy and flustered that he can only giggle and hiss and do that cute thing where he shakes his legs and taps his feet.’”

They didn’t live in a place with snowy winters, but Janus felt a phrase often used in that region come to mind: deceptively sunny. It was the scenario when one looked out the window to marvel at a beautiful winter landscape, blanketed in crystalline snow and brilliant beneath a crisp blue sky and bright sun, only to step outside and take in a breath that felt like a crackling snap in the lungs. Sunny, but cold. That was Patton. Warm, friendly, happy, but, just beneath, positively wicked. Freezing cold and sharp under a pretty sun, a hot spiced drink under sweet white fluff. Janus felt his stomach turn, swoop like at the drop in a roller-coaster, and burst with a blizzard of butterflies. He couldn’t look away from Patton’s quill as it bobbed, scrawling teases into paper that Janus was suddenly jealous of. Okay, maybe he was easier to tease a mood from than he cared to admit.

And perhaps Patton could read his mind, because he conveniently exclaimed, “‘Oh, and teases! Yes! He needs to get all the teases that make his cheeks go red and his scales change color!’”

Janus’ scales were certainly not doing anything of the sort when Patton paused in writing. He pursed his lips, smiled, and jumped back into his letter.

“‘And, you know, I think this mood’s gotta last until Christmas day, so maybe you can send him some tickly dreams in the meantime, too! Maybe twelve days of them would be fitting?’” Patton’s tongue poked between his top and bottom teeth as he giggled. He cleared his throat, donning a more serious face for continuing his letter to Santa. “‘If that’s too much, don’t worry about it; I’d be happy to take some of the work off your hands. I’m actually writing this letter to you with a beautiful feather quill I got for my birthday–Roman said he just knew I’d get a kick out of being fancy while writing letters. But it’s a beautiful plume, my favorite kind of teal blue and so soft to the touch.’”

‘Writing’ was a stretch; Patton wasn’t even touching the pen to the paper anymore, just twirling the pretty thing between his fingers. It was as long as a hand, with the non-writing end fanning out into a subtle fluffy curl. Its fibers seemed to float lazily as Patton waved the quill around, and Janus imagined they were so delicate as to not even be felt–until they found a place so sensitive on the body that they wouldn’t be ignored. Janus’ usually dark eyes and slitted pupils were bright and dilated, focused so on the gossamer feather that he took little note of Patton looking sideways at him, watching his reactions, with a grin.

Patton sighed dreamily. “‘I bet it would feel so nice tracing down Janus’ neck or around his belly or along his hips. Or circling every scale he has.’” When he smirked at Janus, he would have seen the scales on his face flushed a dark brown-gold. “‘Maybe what I should actually ask you to bring is a good tickle session for Janus on Christmas, and I can do the teasing the twelve days before. Whatever you decide, please know that I am a very good judge of character, and I know that Janus has been SO good this year–’”

Janus’ stomach did another giddy loop-de-loop when Patton chuckled and adjusted his glasses.

“I suppose you’re right, Jan; I should be honest, shouldn’t I?” Patton winked, and Janus’ face may have been warm enough to toast marshmallows on. “‘I know that Janus has been VERY naughty this year, and, so, deserves only the sweetest, meanest, most thorough lee mood, teasing, and wrecking that he’s had all year. And, if your present to me is that I get to deliver this for Janus, I certainly wouldn’t complain. Sincerely yours, Patton.’”

Patton’s smile didn’t falter when Janus stood abruptly from his seat, but his eyebrows did rise expectantly. “I’ve finished my coffee,” Janus answered before Patton could ask. “If you’ll excuse me.” Clutching his half-full mug tightly in his hand, Janus skirted widely around the coffee table and death sentence of a Christmas list. He stopped short at the bottom of the stairs, turning to give Patton a forcibly cool nod. “Thank you for your company.”

After a few startled blinks, Patton snorted and held a hand to his rosy freckled cheek. “Signed, sealed, delivered,” he said to Janus with a grin and a shake of his head. “It’s a little too late to try and get on the nice list now~”

Janus fled calmly up the stairs, ears flushed at the last sight of Patton waving the feather quill to him in farewell.

~*~

The teal fluffy feather was all Janus could see, later–minutes? hours? days? he really couldn’t say–when he lay buried beneath his duvet, trying to pat the heat and smile from his cheeks. The trick really was not to think about it, all the lovely teases Patton had wished for him, but how could he do that when that damn feather was running rampant in his brain, dusting all his thoughts to make them tickly. He had just finished his coffee, too, so he couldn’t even hope to drift off for a cozy little nap. It’d be just his luck though; he’d probably get a dream that would fluster him awake or the second he awoke.

With a huff of a sigh, Janus threw off the covers. If the call was coming from inside the house, there was no point in hiding; if his mind was the monster, a blanket wasn’t going to save him. Besides that, the heat of his sweater and flushing cheeks was beginning to make the bubble of space between his blanket and his bed feel like an oven. He sat up enough to free himself from his sweater and dropped it off the side of the bed and onto the discarded blankets before falling onto his back. If his mind was going to torture him, at least, his body could be comfortable.

But, Janus’ mind sang unhelpfully, now he bore even less protection if some lovely monster slithered down the chimney to leave tickly stardust in his socks and pin him to his bed and–

The pillow previously behind Janus’ head was wailed frustratedly into before it, too, was thrown off the bed. Janus forced himself to take a long, slow breath, burying his fingers in the fabric of his sheets. Okay. Clearly, the lee mood was too grand already to try and wall completely off. Trying to ignore it (and ultimately failing to do so) was just making him irritated. But then, he was too worked up and embarrassed to act on his wants, to ask for it. The very thought was mortifying. Maybe there was a safe middle ground. Maybe he could let the dam leak a little, let the thoughts trickle in. He could handle that, he wouldn’t drown. (He would be dramatic, but he wouldn’t drown.) Surely, he could let himself think about it, a little. Patton had already infected him with the feather fever, after all. Janus figured he might as well try to enjoy it.

Breathing came slower and easier when Janus brought himself to that compromise. He could close his eyes, rein in his agitated leg twitching, wade gently into the pool of his mind.

The image of the quill came back to his mind, and he welcomed it, accompanied it with soft touch from his own hand. As the cerulean feather twirled about, dancing amid the sugarplum visions it had made of his thoughts, Janus traced his fingertips over his belly. With his eyes shut, he could almost pretend the feather to be the perpetrator of the feeling, the gentle swishing back and forth along the border between skin and scales. It was a lovely feeling that made his stomach--just beneath the light show of beautiful sensation--ache with longing.

What else could he imagine? Patton had given him a few cheesy seasonal teasing suggestions, which was kind since Janus wasn't the most creative of the Sides--not the least, but not the most. Janus pictured tinsel, silver and shimmery and soft, threaded between his toes and sawed delicately. His breath caught for a moment, and his toes scrunched against the imaginary sensation. How tauntingly on the edge of feeling.

What else could he imagine? Through his closed eyes, he could see the feather swirling gentle but relentless loops around his belly and scales. He could see the tinsel under his toes. He could see Patton’s smile, his fingers curling and uncurling above Janus’ quivering abdomen. Just a little closer…

Janus sat up, burying his flushed face in his hands. Twelve days of anticipation like this would be its own torture.

A knock to the rhythm of ‘Jingle Bells’ sounded from his door. Janus gave his red cheeks one last chastising pat, floundered for a moment on where to lay his limbs to act natural, and settled on resting his hands on his knees. “Come in.”

When the door opened, the first thing to enter was the bright red and white of a Santa hat, followed by Patton’s merry smile. “Hey, kiddo! You busy?”

“Depends,” said Janus with a hollow scoff. “Did you need more help planning holiday torment, or did you want to bake cookies or something?”

Patton snorted, wiggling his shoulders proudly as he fully entered the room and shut the door. He clasped his hands behind his back, swaying his hips forward and back. “Mm, a bit in between,” Patton decided. “Mean, but still sweet.”

Janus swallowed, trying very hard to bar the dam of his thoughts to keep his hopes from running away from him. “Oh?”

“Well, Santa got back to me,” said Patton, leaning back against the door and crossing his arms with a big sigh. “I know, no time wasted; he is a professional, after all.” He shook his head and smiled sadly, but his eyes were sparkling. “But he said that even he couldn’t make a lee mood and wrecking as wonderful as I asked for in such a short turnaround. So!” Patton adjusted his hat and stood tall, beaming. “He said I should most certainly fill in!”

For someone whose thoughts had just been flooded with elated relief, Janus’ mouth was quite dry. He wouldn’t have to wither away the winter waiting. Patton’s hands and feathers and tinsel and smile were near and real. Janus felt a funny mix of gratefulness and annoyance, seeing as how Patton had been the one to drop him into such a state in the first place. But then, he was too excited already to be annoyed. “Oh,” he said again.

“If you’re not busy.” Patton took a step further into the room.

“Well–” Janus started to say.

“You don’t look busy,” said Patton. Two more steps took him to the edge of Janus’ bed, where he stood, head cocked and smile crooked. “You look like you were expecting me.”

Such rare smugness from Patton was enough to snap Janus from flustered to–well, he was certainly still flustered, but also–indignant. His mouth hung open, and, when no words miraculously filled the empty space, Janus stuck out his forked tongue.

“Don’t be naughty,” Patton chastised with a giggle. “I wrote you a song. May I sit with you and sing it for you?”

Janus nodded, pushing himself up with his hands so as to scoot back and make room for Patton on the bed, but Patton stopped with a gentle hand on his knee.

“Lie back and get comfy,” Patton instructed with a grin. “It’s not a short song.”

His sweater and blankets had already been tossed to the floor; Janus had neither protection nor a saving excuse when the heat in his face spread to his ears and down his neck. He lay back, resting his hands on either side of his head, and, mercifully, Patton commented on neither Janus’ flush nor his eagerness. Instead, Patton whistled a little yuletide carol, climbing onto the bed and kneeling over Janus’ legs. He didn’t settle yet, but turned his torso toward the foot of the bed and tugged off his Santa hat, holding it behind his back and out of Janus’ sight. But Janus could still hear as the hat was held open and its previously unseen contents came tumbling out, rattling like cartoon pots and pans fell onto the sheets. Janus had a guess as to what the hidden pile may have included, but he couldn’t fathom how Patton had managed to hide such a trove so impossibly under his hat. Said hat was placed on Janus’ head as soon as Patton had turned to face forward again, the puff of it being booped on Janus’ nose. Janus' face scrunched up in feigned distaste and fruitless effort to keep from smiling anticipatorily.

Patton adjusted himself to kneel fully and comfortably on Janus’ legs, reaching behind him for a moment to neaten up the mystery gifts from Santa’s hat, then faced Janus once more with a smile. “Alright.” Leaning forward a bit to hunch his shoulders and flex his fingers, Patton began to softly sing. “On the first day of Christmas, I count on my merry lee~”

Janus let out a groaning chuckle. Of course, Patton would come up with the silliest teasing twist on a seasonal song. A song which–Janus realized, derision turning to giddy panic–often had twelve verses that only got longer. He yelped, startled from his thoughts by a sudden whispering soft sensation swirling over his lower belly, and came face to face with the evil feather that had started the whole ordeal. Patton circled the teal feather around Janus’ navel, grinning at the smile straining to be free from Janus’ bitten lower lip.

“A giggle button on his belly~” Patton set the feather by his knee and reached behind him with both hands. “On the second day of Christmas, I count on my darling lee…” And, instead of grabbing a new tool, Patton scribbled his fingers up and down Janus’ soles, prompting a squeal and buck from the man. “Two wiggling feet,” Patton sang, before swinging his hands back in front of himself to dance upon Janus’ stomach once more, “and a giggle button on his belly~”

Second verse cleared, ten more to go. It was too late for Janus to curb his smile–the thing had taken off and spread its wingspan across his cheeks–but he could keep from laughing, he could. He had to. Because, of course, it wasn’t just ten more verses in single phrases; it was ten verses consecutive to all the verses that came before. Janus’ mind was too scrambled to do the math on how many teases in total he was about to endure–he was excited to endure.

“On the third day of Christmas, I count on my dashing lee…” Patton fell forward, hovering above Janus nose-to-nose and grinning. The heels of his hands came to rest on Janus’, his fingers sliding up Janus’ palms until their digits were parallel and easily intertwinable. Janus didn’t know whether this move was a moment of mercy early on or of false security, and he tried to hold Patton’s hands and take as deep of breaths as his cantering heart would allow. Patton squeezed his hands once before curling his own fingers inward. Janus’ eyebrows furrowed in confusion before shooting up in realization, just in time for Patton’s nails to scratch delicately along the palms of Janus’ hands. “Three pairs of twitchy palms~”

Janus snorted, and he would have blamed the tickling, if anyone had asked. No way, no way, was Patton going to get him to unfurl his other two sets of arms into a visible and tangible state. Even if doing so would gain Janus four more terribly ticklish spots to be doted upon… No. He would not so willfully participate in his own demise.

Most all his resistance dissipated into delighted terror when Patton drew back, aiming his wiggling fingers behind him until they touched down to rake Janus’ heels. “Two wiggling feet~”

Janus held his breath and clenched his jaw. He’d already let a little laughter sound loose; even if it was a relief to do so, it was too early in the marathon to let himself go. Wasn’t it?

“And a giggle button on his belly~”

Poor Janus arched his back and threw his head into the mattress as Patton’s fingers danced around his stomach, trailing long slow paths from the bottom of his ribcage to the top of his hips and back up again. On the second trip, Patton changed techniques, using one hand for featherlight skating down Janus’ sensitive skin and using the other for just a bit rougher scratching down his scales. At last, the giggly dam crumbled, and, albeit through his grinning teeth and scrunched nose, Janus began to laugh, a hissing breathy happy sound.

Patton hummed, pleased, and sung on. “On the fourth day of Christmas, I count on my cutie lee…” From where his hands splayed on Janus’ waist, it was easy as fruit cake for Patton to slide them around until he was holding Janus in a hug, warm but made menacing by his nails sudden scurrying into Janus’ lower back. “Four spine-y squeezes~”

Grabbing at his hat to hold himself still, Janus cackled, shoving his back down into the mattress in attempt to make the spot inaccessible for Patton, but to no avail. Still, he didn’t even have time to get used to the sensation before the song went marching on. Patton gently pried Janus’ hands free to scribble into his palms, fell back onto his legs to skitter down his soles, and bowed forward to dig into the soft flesh of his stomach.

“On the fifth day of Christmas, I count on my love-a-lee…” The flurry of movement from the last verse had paused, and Patton lay, for a moment, his cheek still on Janus’ panting midsection. Janus kept his guard up, though. Haggard as he was, he felt vindicated when he saw the mischievous twinkle in Patton’s eyes immediately before he took a big breath and blew a vibrating raspberry in Janus’ belly. The hilarious and heinous weapon was matched in volume by Janus’ wail of laughter. “Five raspberries!” Patton lifted his head, beaming. Janus shook his head, too breathless to form words and soon swept up once more in a tidal wave of howling humor as Patton planted one, two, three, four more raspberries on Janus’ tummy. It certainly didn’t help that all the Sides had slight stubble growing recently; the scratch of Patton’s peach fuzz, especially on Janus’ scales, made for the most awful raspberries he’d probably ever felt.

No rest for the wicked; Patton’s song carried on. Janus, through quite brutal a memorization process, was starting to get used to the pattern mentally, but not physically. The jumping from spot to spot was too sudden and speedy for him to get used to anything, so all he could do was brace for what he knew was coming next. Four scribbles down his spine (and shoulders, which Patton did not need to be so mean as to target), three pairs of palms subject to little but effective scratches, two feet menaced this time by that damn blue feather, and one belly button turning pink from aching laughter and attention.

“On the sixth day of Christmas, I count on my dearie lee… six ticklish armpits~”

Another pause, during which Janus gulped giggly breaths before cracking an eye open. Like spiders cut loose from their webs, Patton’s hands descended, diving into Janus’ uppermost armpits with clawing fingers.

It was good that Janus had already let his laughter loose, because, when the newest bout of cachinnation rocked his frame, he needed all his resolve to hold his arms still. His grasp was white-knuckle tight on his arms and hair, and his laughing grin was wide enough to make his cheeks burn from the ache of exertion as well as the heat of elation. And then Patton took the elevator down to the next floor of terribly ticklish underarms. Janus’ elbows strained to flap, and his head whipped back and forth, shoving one chortling cheek and then the other into the bedspread. How long could this verse possibly be?

Another brutal raspberry to his belly amidst the armpit assault prompted a shriek from Janus. He couldn’t verbalize how unfair it was to double up on spots, and Patton’s explanation was hardly sympathetic. “Five!” Patton crowed, burying his face in Janus’ stomach to deliver vibrating lips and nuzzling stubble with each syllable. “Rasp! Ber! Ries!” For as much effort as Janus was using to keep still (aside from his thrashing laughing head and heaving stomach), he was startled at how easy a time Patton had muscling him halfway onto his side. That was definitely why he squealed, and not because Patton had finally moved down to scribbling into his lowest armpits with one jumping hand and feathering his lower back with the other.

“Four spiney squeezes~”

It was small but a mercy still that Patton didn’t make Janus release his ironclad grip on his own arms for the next stanza, settling instead on brushing that evil plume along his forearms and into the crooks of his elbows. (The song’s alignment to Patton’s actions had been askew from the start anyway, but Janus was having too much fun to nitpick.)

“Three pairs of twitchy palms~”

Perhaps unintentional, but there was another brief respite for Janus in the few seconds between Patton pulling back from his upper body to reach back for his feet. Very brief, maybe long enough for one guffaw to have a longer inhale than the rest before tumbling once more into wailing laughter as Patton’s fingers scribbled into his arches.

“Two wiggling feet~”

Patton pounced forward and giggled when Janus snorted amid his laughter, only to place a teasing kiss on his stomach.

“And a giggle button on his belly~”

If Janus wasn’t half-past loopy already, he would have marveled at Patton’s masterminding. This session was pure psychological evil. Janus was all heightened nerves and anticipation; after the reveal of what spot would start the new verse, he technically knew what was coming next, but he was still awash in thrill and terror, like he was experiencing each spot anew.

He also would have applauded six ticklish hands for Patton’s composition skills. Once they’d gotten to the tenth verse, it was a very smooth and terrible line up from Janus’ toes to his knees to his thighs to his hips. The next, eleven, was not so limited in its geography but its choreography, but Patton performed it wickedly. That beautiful quill was the star of it, and Patton made use of his ‘eleven feather swishes’ to waltz up Janus’ tummy, across his chest, dipping into his armpits, to his neck and ears–eleven was so many swishes. If he’d had the wherewithal and malice for it, Janus would have thrown Patton six calling birds for his villainy.

The echoes of the last verse and laughter lingering in the corners of the room, Janus lay, limp and gulping air through lingering giggles, eyes shut and an utterly relaxed smile upon his lips. Patton lay as well, still and content, his cheek resting on Janus’ stomach and his index fingers tracing the scales on his sides.

“How ya doin’, kiddo?” Patton asked with a sigh, chuckling when he received only a happy hissing exhale in reply. “I’m glad.” He sat up, tapping a little tune on Janus’ tummy and biting his lip. “You think you got it in you for one more verse?”

Janus’ eyes scrunched further shut, and he giggled at the mere thought of Patton’s proposal. He peeked through one eye and nodded.

“Okay.” Patton’s soft, fond smile sharpened into something sinister. “But, you know, darn it, I think I’ve forgotten the words. Do you remember them? Think you can sing it for me?”

Janus snorted at that. Yes, an excellent idea, let the snake whose brain had been reduced to happy goopy goofy mush come up with the words to the teasing song that had been his detriment. Don’t let him sink fully into elated sleepiness, make him force himself to stay awake enough to bear a bit more, draw out the session a little longer to make it truly the best Christmas gift… Upon deliberation, Janus could see the appeal. Mean but sweet, indeed. Janus pulled himself up, physically and mentally, assuming the familiar position of bracing his own arms and coaxing his mind from the edge of sleep. He’d certainly heard the verses enough times to know the words. He cleared his throat, voice hoarse and happy from laughing so long. “On the twelfth day of Christmas, the tickle monster gave to me: twelve heaving ribs– PATTON!”

The newest rendition of the song had been softer, wavering a bit, compared to Patton’s more confident and lilting tone. Well. It had been quieter, until Patton had unleashed hell upon Janus’ ribs. Vibrating, scratching fingers followed the furrows of the bones, left to right, and then raked down them like a washboard. Rinse, repeat.

Oh, Patton had been going easy on him all this time. That whole marathon thing had just been a prelude to the real event: the sprint.

“Yes, Janus dear?” Patton grinned. “Go on, just waiting for you to sing the next bit and tell me where to tickle!”

OH, not even a sprint–a sprint implied pushing it to the limit for a short time. This pseudo-sprint’s pace was to be determined by the man whose legs had been jelly for the past ten minutes. So it could have been a short time, if Janus let his shrieking, snorting laughter overtake him, or it could take as long as it took him to think coherently while being tickle tortured. A very, very long time. He really must have been on the naughty list.

Like with the previous, Janus had barely crowed out the next verse before Patton had that damn feather darting everywhere it could reach, his neck and ears and stomach mostly, until it could fly back to saw between his toes for the tenth day of Christmas. The feather flipped to scribble the quill end under Janus’ toes as Patton’s other hand squeezed up until it reached his knee. Nine. Both hands dove in to spider and scratch his thighs. Eight. Then to massage their thumbs into his hips bones. Seven.

Janus was a gay mess of exhausted but elated guffawing and kicking feet and flapping elbows. He could barely get out the words to direct Patton where to tickle next. If he’d been asked to lead a verse earlier in the session, he might have mucked up the order a bit on purpose to make it easier on himself. That option was out the window now, as he could hardly keep up with calling out spots as Patton was actively tickling them. He was swept up in the speed and brutality of the menacing of different spots, all scribbling nails and stubbly kisses. Patton was laughing with him, cheeks red from the upped pace of the activity and smile wide and beaming from getting to make Janus feel so happy and safe. He was jumping and falling between spots on the final countdown, half leading and half following Janus’ howling hymnal. With one final raspberry to Janus’ navel, the both of them collapsed in a cuddly heap, Patton rolling off Janus' body to hug him properly.

Eyes heavy and chest heaving as he took slow, deep, relaxing breaths, Janus gave Patton a boop on the nose with the Santa hat that sat crooked on his head. “Merry Christmas, meanie.”

“And a sweet New Year,” Patton giggled, reaching over the side of the bed to grab the duvet and wrap them both up in it for a well-earned snuggle.

#tickling #squealing santa 2k23 #squealing santa #mine #ro writes #ticklish!janus #lee!janus #ler!patton

43 notes · View notes

ohtobeleah · 2 years

Text

Chaos // Bradley Bradshaw

Chapter Five: B-Rad

Summary: After the death of your father and some time spent with Rooster, you find it in yourself to keep pushing. But stealing an F-18 to run a course you weren’t permitted to has its consequences.

Warnings: Bradley Bradshaw x reader fluff. SMUT! Female receiving. Ex Rooster ex reader.

Word Count: 7k

Author Note: literally my favourite chapter by far. Falling a little behind schedule though so we might end up with seven chapters. Not the original six.

“Bradley—“ Rooster knew how you were feeling first hand. He lost his father at a young age—so young you could only remember the vaguest memory of Goose. He lost his mother—not so long ago either. You would always remember Carole for her kindness, her heart, her love for you as a daughter that never wavered even if you and Rooster were a million miles apart. “Come in, I wish the reunion fell under better circumstances.” Your mother Sarah welcomed the aviator she’d watched grow up into the man he was today into her home. Still in his ceremonial uniform. Only a few hours after the funeral, only an hour after the wake had ended.

A warm embrace consumed her for a moment before Rooster pulled away, looking around your childhood home that held so many memories—albeit the home itself had been extended and renovated a time or two. The memories were all there. Rooster swore if he held his breath and closed his eyes he could still hear your infectious childhood laugh.

“I couldn’t tell you where my daughter is even if I wanted to, I haven’t heard from her since we got back from the wake.” Sarah, your mother and the woman Rooster had confided in many times throughout his life, sighed as she stalled in the kitchen. Meals upon meals, flower arrangements and cards of many condolences and sympathies scattered the kitchen island. Overwhelming her. “She’s not doing well, Maverick told me what happened—“

“Admiral Beau isn’t one for timing, is he Mrs.K?” Rooster acknowledged the saddened widow as he took his dress hat off. Staring out into the backyard– Rooster saw slightest movement coming from inside the treehouse Tom had made you well over sixteen years ago. “I think I know where she is, do you mind if I—?” Rooster gestured to the treehouse outside as your mother scoffed out a small chuckle.

“Be my guest honey.” Rooster was quick to kiss your mother on the cheek, bending over to match her height before making his way outside. Birds sang in the garden as he climbed the wooden stairs. To his surprise they were still as stable as they were the day Tom and Pete had built it for you. True craftsmanship.

“Chaos, it’s me—“ Roosted cooed as he looked through the little window, sliding the clear plastic across that was meant to mimic glass to pop his head in. You didn’t answer as you sat curled up on one of the old bean bag chairs. Your Pajamas on, hair damp from the shower you had cried long and hard in after you got home. “Y/n—“

“Go home flyboy can’t you read?” Rooster could hear in your voice how much you had been crying. If anything you needed to blow your nose. “Sign says no boys allowed.” Rooster took his head out of the window, looking to where you’d hung the No boys sign up across the front door.

With a single toss over the balcony, the sign landed on the grass below as Rooster ducked his head slightly as he made his way inside. As a kid he remembered this treehouse being a castle, maybe it still was. You’d both grown up since then—there was definitely less space to play teapaties now. But if you asked? He’d be blue.

“What sign?” Rooster sat beside you. “I don’t see a sign.” chuckling softly as you picked your head up. Eyes swollen from tears cried long and hard.

“Hi—“ You cooed softly.

“Hey Chaos.” Rooster cooed back as he gently nestled in, his back against the bean bag you sat in, your arm draping over his shoulder to keep him close as he drew unidentifiable objects into the palm of your hand.

“Really living up to the call sign aren’t I?” You shook your head softly. Rooster took in all the photos you still had hung around the treehouse from your childhood and teenage years.

“Yeah well, can’t say you don’t suit it that’s for sure.” Silence fell as Rooster continued to draw unidentifiable objects into your forearm. “Mav told me what happened—“

“Ah well, you know what they say Bradshaw—“ you paused for a moment as you stood up, kicking Roosters legs apart softly before you came to sit between them. Your back against his chest as you pulled up the blanket that had been working to keep you warm on the bean bag. “You win some, you lose some.”

“I can only imagine what you must be feeling right now.” Admiral Beau sat behind his desk after having requested you see him in his office before the funeral. “Take some time, whatever you need.”

“I appreciate that sir, but there's no time, I just wanna get this over and done with so I can focus on the mission, sir.”

“Unfortunately Lieutenant Kazansky, you will not be continuing on with this detachment effectively immediately.” Your heart sank. Still holding your position you raised a questioning brow.

“Sir–?”

“You and I both know that after you stunt with Lieutenant Seresin the only thing keeping you here was your old man.”

“Sir with all due respect i believe i–”

“Save it, Lieutenant, my decision is final.”

“I believe im one of the few who could actually achieve the mission directives sir and i know you know that–”

“That may be true Chaos, but all you've managed to do in your time here is assault another Lieutenant, fraternise with your co-worker and destroy a multi million dollar F-18!”

“Sir–”

“That is all, Lieutenant, you are dismissed.”

“Are you telling me in full confidence right now that Lieutenant Y/n Chaos Kazansky is gonna take being dropped from the program?” You let you head rest against Roosters chest. You had nothing left to give. Nothing left to fight with. “That’s not like you?”

“Rooster—I literally just buried my dad. The last thing I care about right now is flying some suicidal mission for Admirals who don’t give a damn if we make it home safe or not.”

“Since when do you let people tell you what to do?” Rooster never picked you as the type of person that would join the Navy, purely based on the fact you hated being told what to do. But—he’d never been more proud of everything you’d managed to achieve. Even if you’d just been kicked out for recklessness.

“This is the navy Rooster—they’re called orders for a reason, I don’t like them anymore then you do but that’s the way it is—I’m grounded.” You let your head fall into his chest as Rooster let his chin rest on top of your head. His arms strung around your shoulders.

“Can I be honest with you real quick?” It wasn’t that Rooster wasn’t being serious before, but as he asked you, the tone in his voice got a little heavier. More serious.

“Yeah—“ I mean hey why not right? Expecting another catastrophe you held your breath. Hope for the best, expect the worst they always said.

“And I wanna preface this by letting you know this is coming from the part of me that admires you as a pilot.” Rooster paused for a moment as he took his chin off the top of your head. His arms unwinding from around your shoulders as you turned around to face him. Sitting back on your knees between Roosters legs. “But you’re the only person I’d wanna fly this mission with, simply because you don’t think—you just do.” There was a part of you that was quick to take that as an insult, but deep down? You knew that was as good as any compliment Rooster could ever give you.

“Love when you talk dirty to me, keep going.” You couldn’t help but to smile, the way Rooster looked at you with so much love, so much admiration in his eyes. The women of his dreams.

“Only someone as reckless and as dangerous as you could fly this mission successfully—sure, maybe Hangman’s stupid enough to go balls to the wall but you? You calculate the risk and go for it anyway.” Shaking your head softly, you bit your bottom lip. Stopping it from quivering under the Immense pressure of your fragile emotions. Tears welling in your eyes.

“This is all very flattering, Rooster, really, but I can’t do anything about it now. I’ve already been dismissed from the program.”

“Your dad wouldn’t have taken no for an answer?” God Rooster hit you with that one didn’t he. “C’mon Y/n, you’re Chaos fucking Kazanksy for crying out loud. You didn’t get your call sign from taking L’s and backseats. You got it from pissing off Admirals, why stop now?” Rooster questioned, trying to egg you on. He knew you weren’t the type of person to take things lying down. This was no exception. He knew you just needed a push in the right direction.

You didn’t respond, you let Rooster's words rattle around in your head. You wanted to play tough, do all this on your own. Be an independent woman who didn’t need anyone—but after finally letting your dad go? Losing the one man who never let you down ever? You felt lost, exposed, exhausted. Giving in, you fell back into Rooster's arms, crying as you let your sobs echo throughout the treehouse you and Rooster held so many childhood memories in.

With wide eyes, Rooster instantly took you in, your arms wrapping around his midsection as he held you back. Rocking you softly side to side as he just let you cry. Not saying a word—Rooster knew you just needed to flush it out. Because even Superwoman sometimes needed Superman's soul.

“I've got you–” whispering softly, Rooster did his very best to comfort you. All he could do was hold you close. “I've got you Y/n.” There was no clock to watch the seconds, the minutes, what could have been hours pass by as Bradley Bradshaw sat there with you crying in his arms. The sound of your heartbreak tearing a part of his heart out. But there came a point where your sobs were a little less violent, your grip became a little less intense around his waist, and sure enough, you’d cried yourself to exhaustion. Passing out in the comforting embrace of the love of your life, your best friend.

Rooster knew that you couldn't stay up in the treehouse all night, the sun was beginning to set, the temperature started to slowly drop, enough to the point he could feel you shivering slightly under the warmth of the blanket. Deciding that he would do the only thing he really could do besides leaving you there. Gently, and ever so slowly, as delicately as he possibly could– Rooster slid himself out from behind you. Bending over, Rooster groaned softly as he tried not to strain his back. Picking you up bridal style– if you heard him? He’d be honest, it wasn't about how heavy you were. It was purely technique based.

He hadn’t thought this through very well. Because getting you off the floor of the treehouse was only part one, part two included getting you out the door. Rooster had to not so gracefully duck to avoid a nasty whack to the forehead. Although you and himself had grown over the years–the treehouse had remained the same. Which included a small door frame that had pen marks and permanent marker lines that marked how tall you were both getting. Dates and times spanning the years you'd both known each other.

Rooster had to pause for a moment before making his descent down the seven or eight wooden stairs that lined the side of the treehouse. Your head lulled against his chest as he cradled you in his arms. Sighing, Rooster took one step at a time.

“Oh, my heart.” Your mother cooed as she held her hand over her heart from her seat in the living room. Pete had stopped by to again let his condolences be known to the grieving widow. A friend. A beloved family member. “Pete, turn around.” Taking a sip of the tea Sarah had prepared for him, Pete Mitchell turned his head to see Bradley Bradshaw trotting down the stairs of the treehouse he had once pushed you down. “Isn't that just–pure.”

“Not something I thought I'd ever see, but sure, we can go with pure if you like.” Maverick teased as Rooster used his boot clad foot to pry open the glass sliding door. Turning sideways to crab walk you inside. Huffing a gentle sigh as he did so. His eyes meeting Mavericks. “You right here Rooster?”

“She knocked herself out, I just didn't wanna leave her up there alone.” Rooster explained as his eyes fell to your mother. “She was pretty upset.”

“I thought she would be.” Your mother nodded. “Um, you can probably just dump her in her room?” You and your mother just had that type of relationship, easy going, a little dark humor based. relaxed. “If you wanna stay the night Rooster there should be a box in the top of the cupboard with a bunch of stuff you left around the place over the years.”

“Thanks Mrs.K–” Rooster didn't really acknowledge the question, but nevertheless he appreciated the offer. “You say something to Admiral Beau?” Rooster tilted his chin upwards as he asked Maverick the pretty intense question. “Or–”

“I had a few choice words, but at the end of the day I can only do so much.” Rooster nodded. Accepting the reality of the situation unfolding around him. Heading off down towards where your old childhood bedroom was. “Bradley?” Maverick called out as Rooster turned around to face him, his arms about to pop out of their sockets if he didnt put you down sooner rather than later. “She's tough, she’ll figure everything out.”

“I know she will.” Rooster didn't hesitate to agree as you softly moaned against his chest. Shit he really had to put you down before he dropped you, his arms numbing at the sensation of being bent too long, holding pressure too long. “I know she will.”

In another life—there would have been a time where Bradley Bradshaw would have slipped in behind you with ease. His arms pulling you close to him as he got comfortable between the sheets and the fluffy covers of your bedspread. But like I said—in another life.

Rooster placed you down as gently and as carefully as he could, watching as you instantly in your sleeping state took to your new environment. Comforting, all consuming.

With a drawn out sigh—Rooster stepped away from the side of your bed. Rubbing his palm down his face as he fought every urge he had to stay. Wondering over to where the cupboard was, Rooster didn’t wanna pry into the past all that much. He knew that although the good most certainly weighed out the bad, there were definitely landmines scattered. He didn’t want to be the latest victim of his own stupidity. But nevertheless, Rooster saw the box your mother had told him about. A clear plastic box with a hand written label scotch taped to the lid. The nickname evoked a chuckle that came from the very depths of Roosters soul. Clear as day he read the nickname you knew he hated, knew he wouldn’t let anyone else call him ever. An abbreviation so atrocious it took him his entire junior year of high school begging and pleading with you to stop calling him that.

Head hadn’t heard it in years—but reading it? Seeing it written in your writing kinda made him miss it. Grade a Stockholm syndrome.

Holding the box before he dropped it carefully to the end of your bed, being cautious not to wake you—Rooster ran his fingers over the nickname written in bold:

B-Rad’s Stuff.

There was an old t-shirt he’d sworn he’d lost back in senior year—it smelt of you as he held it to his nose. Rooster wondered how many nights you’d dawned it when he wasn’t around. Pictures of moments passed were scattered throughout the box. Old birthday cards he’d written you, dried and pressed petals of what Rooster could only assume would have been from a bunch or roses he’d given you were thrown in absentmindedly.

But amongst the clothes that surely wouldn’t fit his physique now, Rooster pulled out a pair of sweatpants he’d remembered he’d left behind at your place the last time he’d ever so stupidly broken off your relationship, an old Naval Accademy shirt that was balled up in the box would have to do. A snug fit—sure, but he’d make it work.

Although Rooster couldn’t find it in himself to lay beside you, not knowing where he stood with you, he simply took a pillow from the other side of your bed, laid it down on the ground beside you—and decided that’s where he would stay.

He was there—just in case you needed him, but Rooster made sure to stay far enough away in case you woke up and decided you didn’t need him.

But let’s face it? It wasn’t a case of whether you needed Bradley Bradshaw or not. The fact of the matter was you simply—

Wanted him.

***~***~***~***~***~***~***

Four in the morning was a peaceful time. The world had not yet begun but it was getting close. The stillness of your childhood bedroom was like any other. Frozen in time. You weren’t sure how you got here, nor were you sure when the tears had actually stopped—but you knew enough to know that you had a criminally dry mouth. Tossing the covers aside with a groan you threw your legs over the side of the bed. Your heel connecting with something hard.

“Ow—!” Rooster hissed as he jolted awake from the sudden heel to the back of the head he’d coped.

“Shit—!” Your eyes widened as you scurried off your bed, dodging where Rooster had been laying as he sat up to meet you. Rubbing the back of his head. “What are you doing down here?” Crouching down in front of him you frowned curiously. “Hang on? Did you, did you carry me to bed?”

“Well I wasn’t gonna leave you up there a sobbing mess was I?” Rooster chuckled as he stopped rubbing the back of his head. Yawning— he moved to rub his eyes. “What time is it?” You didn’t respond, you simply smiled a soft smirk as you reached for Rooster's hand.

“Time to come to bed.”

“What? No I can’t—“ Rooster hesitated as you dragged him to his feet. Standing before him in the darkness of your childhood bedroom. “Y/n—“

“I’m one hundred percent sure that the bed would be more comfortable than the carpet—“ Noticing the clothes Rooster had changed into. The content of the plastic box still haphazardly scattered beside him. “B-Rad.”

“Oh you just had to go there didn’t you?” There wasn’t much distance between the two of you. Barley any at all as you stood before Rooster and he stood before you. Surrounded in darkness—only the slightest bit of light peering in from your window. The patio solar lights working overtime. “You know I hate when you call me that.”

“Yeah, but you always let me anyway.” Reminding Rooster you enjoyed the closeness a little too much—allowing Rooster to duck his head slightly, his face closer to yours. Lips ever so close—almost close enough to just capture with yours. “We aren’t gonna do this again.” You smirked, teasing Rooster as your fingers played with his. “I’m still holding a grudge—“

“I told you, you’re it.” Rooster cooed as his breath fanned across your face, hot. “What’s a guy gotta do? Beg?” Rooster let his forehead rest against yours as you thought about your next move.

There were a lot of things Bradley Bradshaw was good at, commitment clearly not being something on that list. But getting you off? That was in the top five.

“That’s exactly what I’m gonna make you do.” Smirking, you pushed Rooster back so his legs hit the back of your bed frame. Guiding him down by his shoulder as you stood between his legs, his hands instinctively on your hips. “Beg—“

“Chaos, you can’t be serious?” Rooster questioned as you reached for the bottom of your shirt, lifting it up and over your head before discarding it across the room. Standing before Rooster as his eyes fell to your exposed chest. Stunned into absolute silence.

“Tell me how much you love me—“ It wasn’t that you needed a definitive answer, you just wanted to hear Rooster say it. Regardless if he truly meant it. That might seem fucked beyond belief—but you didn’t know any other way. “Beg me to be yours, Bradley.” With a gentle shove to the shoulder you had Rooster on his back. Making with hairs you shed your sweats, completely and wholeheartedly exposed.

Rooster couldn’t believe his eyes as his knee rested between your bare thighs. Watching with hooded eyes as you stood waiting for him to say something—anything.

“Never have I ever felt so stupid for leaving you.” It was an administration of guilt more than anything else. “But I’ve never stopped loving you—not for a second.”

“Keep going.” You crawled onto the bed beside where Rooster laid sprawled out. “Or else I’m putting my clothes back on.” With a gulp, Rooster nodded softly. Following your every command.

“I’m a coward.” You liked that one a lot. Sending a leg over his waist you mounted Rooster with ease. “I’m scared of just how much I love you—“ Moving closer to where Rooster's face was with every sentence he spoke, he knew exactly what he’d be doing for the next however long it took him to get you where you needed to go. “So I run thinking just maybe I’ll figure something out but I never do and I always fucking regret leaving you.”

“Start begging Lieutenant Bradshaw before I change my mind.” Sitting on his chest so close he could almost taste you, Rooster begged.

“Take me back—“

“Why should I?” You were quick to ask as you hovered just above his chest, slowly creeping forward.

“Because I’ll never leave you again.”

“I don’t believe you.” You sighed dramatically as you backed away slightly—Roosters hands coming to stop you by your ass. Pulling you back closer as you hovered his Nirvana over his chest.

“One more chance, that's it. One—“ Rooster pleaded. “I’ll give you my last name just to prove it baby.” That got you a little too good. “I’ll follow you to the moon and back, heaven or hell, I’ll be yours.” You were so close to just letting him have it. But Rooster hadn’t worked hard enough to gain your trust. “Please Y/n—“

“Prove it?” You teased. With a jolt, Rooster had you down on his face in a matter of seconds. Devouring everything you gave him. “Ohhh fuck—!” Throwing your head back so fast you swore you gave yourself whiplash. “Bradley! Jesus—oh my go—“ You couldn’t finish what you were saying, hell you couldn’t breathe as Rooster lapped away at your core, so tender yet so fierce. He needed to prove he could get you to your high, already drunk of the power you had over him.

“Feels so fucking good Rooster don’t you dare stop.” You couldn’t help but to moan as you saw Roost looked up at you for a brief moment as you looked down. “Don’t stop.”

“Now who’s begging? Rooster teased playfully—the response he got from you came in the form of a tight tug on his hair. Sending painful yet oh so pleasurable shockwaves through his body. Hissing against your core as you moved your hips in small circles. Grinding down on Rooster’s face as he sucked and lapped at all the right places.

“Yes—just like that!” It felt otherworldly. The way Rooster was giving you everything he had to offer, his tongue flicking against your sensitive bundle of nerves as his lips worked to create an almost vacuum seal like sensation. The pressure immense. The feeling sensational. “Rooster—fuck!”

He wanted to hear you cum for him, that was all that was Rooster's mind as he felt your sweet nectar dripping down his chin, down his neck. The way he didn’t mind straining himself in order to hear you cry those blissful moans into the early morning darkness. He was committed to you, to getting you to your high and making sure that when you got there he’d ride it out with you.

“Please—Rooster, im—“ You had to collect your thoughts as the feeling of a tsunami started to form. “I’m gonna cum—“ Roosters hands came up from where they had been resting gently against the small of your back to reach up for your breast. Squeezing and playing with your sensitive buds. Knowing it would give you just a little extra push. “Oh my god—oh shit shit shit shit—“ There had never been a more perfect place to sit.

“Come for me Chaos.” There was a small part of Rooster that thought you were spiralling out of control. He wondered for a brief moment if this was what you truly wanted, if this would backfire. Was it taking advantage of your poor lack of judgement if you came onto him? What if after all the endorphins had left your body would you want him to stay? “Cum for me baby—let me taste you.”

Electricity. That’s what you would describe it as as your hands cupped Roosters cupping your breast. With a wide jaw and an angelic moan, Rooster had your thighs shaking on either side of your face. Completely buried in your core, pulsing rapidly as he sucked and lapped away at you. Steadying you above him as your orgasm washed over you—hitting you just as hard as a semi trailer would.

“Ohhhhhhh fuckkk—“ You cried out into the darkness. Rooster drank you up, his chin completely saturated with your nectar. Sweet and perfect. “Rooster—“ Sighing dramatically you fell to your side. Eyes closed as your body relaxed. Rooster was quick to sit up, meeting you in the middle of your bed.

“Want me to stay?” It was the way you instantly nodded in response that had Rooster connecting his lips with yours. Tasting yourself you pulled him down on top of you. His hands instantly roaming your body. “Chaos—“

“Just go with it.” You threw caution into the wind yet again for Bradley Bradshaw. Knowing that if he was going to break your heart again it would truly be the death of you. Would you ever learn your lesson?

Falling asleep around six thirty in the morning, wrapped in each other’s arms. Rooster knew he wouldn't let you go again. This was it for him. You were it. You had a power of him. Falling asleep content that the moment he had a chance to he’d ask you to marry him.

Without a shadow of a doubt.

It felt like minutes, but as Rooster reached across to pull you close he was met with an empty bed. Questioning whatever reality he had somehow transported from, he swore blind you were just with him a second ago.

Sitting up dumbfounded—Rooster's eyes landed on the small post it note stuck to his uniform, wrapping the sheet around his waist, Rooster padded across the room to see what you had written. He couldn’t say he was shocked—but still, he was concerned slightly.

“I know what I have to do, see you back in Fightertown B-Rad.”

****~****~****~****~****~

Rooster hadnt heard from you all morning. His few text messages and handful of calls had gone unread, unnoticed, unanswered. He knew he should be focused a little more on the presentation going on before him. But his mind was still stuck on you, the way you tasted, the way you felt. They way Rooster knew you were one inconvenience away from completely breaking down.

“Unfortunately due to circumstances out of our current control, Lieutenant Kazansky won't be continuing on with this detachment.” Maverick addressed the class who looked just as saddened to hear you had been dismissed then what you did when Admiral Beau pulled the plug. “And it pains me to say, as of today there are new mission parameters.” Pete Mitchell had fought tooth and nail to keep the parameters in place. But Admiral Beau admitent things had to change. “Time to target is now four minutes.” Maverick wasn't enjoying this, he almost walked out the moment he was told. But he couldnt leave his pilots. He felt a personal responsibility to see this out.

“You’ll be entering the valley at reduced speed, not to exceed four hundred and twenty knots.”

“Sir, won't that be giving their planes time to intercept?” Bob interjected as he looked around at his fellow pilots. Wishing you were sitting with them. Knowing if you were there you would have been the first to call bullshit.

“Well Lieutenant, you have a fighting chance against enemy aircraft. What are the odds of surviving a head on collision with a mountain?” Admiral Beau was quick to chim in as he stepped up next to Maverick. Taking over with a stirn voice as the graphic course behind him changed. “You’ll be attacking the target at a higher altitude– level with the north wall, it will be a little harder to keep your laser on target but you will avoid the high G climb out.”

“We’ll be sitting ducks for enemy milles.” Fanboy sighed. The automated map behind where Maverick and Admiral Beau stood began to beep. The class confused as the two men turned around just as stunned.

“Who the hell is that?” Admiral Beau looked at Maverick with fire in his eyes. Maverick shrugged his shoulders, unaware of what you had planned. Watching on just as confused as he looked down at his list of attendance. Everyone was here and accounted for– except maybe……

“Chaos to range control, entering Point Alpha.” You explained as you clipped your mask on, swinging around with speed to where the check point was marked. “Confirm, green range.”

“There’s no way—“ Rooster sat a little straighter in his chair, balling his first as he egged you on silently. His girl. “No fucking way.”

“Did you know about this!?” Bon whisper shouted as he turned to face Rooster from the chair in front. “This is crazy even for her!”

“I swear to you she didn’t mention it—“ Rooster widened his eyes as he smirked wildily. “This is the first I'm hearing about this too.” He knew there was a reason you didn't tell him. That reason being he was free of all consequences if things went south. Rooster couldn't be dragged into the mess your stunt would surely cause. He’d be free to thrive in his career. “She’s insane.”

“Uh, Chaos, this is range control–uh green range is confirmed, I don't see an event scheduled for you ma'am?” The entire class moved to the edge of their seats as they watched your tracker progress on the flight projector. The little camcorder in your cockpit live streaming your face, your cockpit, your overall being.

“Yeah well, I'm going anyway.” You confirmed. Shrugging it off because you had already gotten this far–may as well finish it right? Taking a deep breath in because this may be your last flight in an F-18. This could get you dishonourably discharged. “Kazansky is a go.”

“Nice–” Phoenix whispered under her breath as she watched in utter bewilderment.

“Setting time to target, two minutes and fifteen second.” The timer that read four minutes changed instantly before the class.

“Bull, two fifteen? That's impossible.” Hangman hissed, sure he wanted you here but he knew that two fifteen was pushing it, even for you. He knew what it was like to have something to prove, but this? This was chaotic at best. “She won’t make that.”

“Shut up before I decide to make you.” Rooster came to your defence quicker than ever before. Pointing a stern finger Hangman’s way as his elbow rested on his arm chair. “What don’t you understand here? Chaos is the best of all of us, if anyone can do two fifteen it would be her.”

“I understand she was kicked from the program, Bradshaw, so this literally impossible stunt of hers will have her ass kicked out of the Navy quicker than you can say dishonourably discharged.” Rooster knew Hangman was right. This wasn't going to end well for you. Turning his attention back to you, Rooster softened as he watched you back your final decision. He couldn't help but to wonder if he’d pushed you to do this. But when Rooster had said don't take this lying down he didn't know his words translated into stealing a goddamn F-18.

“Final attack point, Chaos is inbound.” Throttling forward, you increased your speed. Inverting down as you punched it. Giving it your absolute all as you increased your speed as fast as you could physically handle. Starting strong with every intention of finishing strong.

You didn't know you were crying until you felt the tears streaming down your face. You hoped this was something your dad would have done if he were in your shoes. There was never going to be a day where you made commander, never going to be a day you ranked higher than captain at best.

At this point you were tired, sick of running as fast as you could. Always wondering if you would have gotten where you were today quicker if you were a man. Why did you get kicked out of the program for fraternisation but Rooster hadn't been? Why did you get kicked out for assaulting another lieutenant but Hangman wasn't even written up for pulling your papers. None of it sat right with you–especially the part where the moment your dad had passed Admiral Beau took it as the perfect opportunity to dismiss you. Knowing there was no one left to stop him.

With your mind running wild with enough emotional trauma and baggage to fuel your determination to complete this course– you pushed that throttle so far forward to send your G’s climbing. Coming out of the turns into the straight away. This was the home stretch.

As the timer counted down the seconds, it was as if everyone watching you fly forgot how to breathe. With forty seconds left on the clock you approached the straight. At this point Bob grew nervous, standing from his seat as did Rooster. Eyes glued to your map. Fanboy clung to the head rest of the chair in front of him.

“Popping in three, two one–” Rooster stood from his seat the second he noticed the tears in your eyes, running his hands through his hair. There was nothing he could do for you but all he wanted to do was hold you. Watching as you inverted over the lip of the course guided mountain. Flipping over shorting after as the class watched you line your target up expertly. “Target acquired– confirming tone!” You reported as the class heard the high pitched tone echo through the room.

“Bombs away–” With just eight seconds remaining, you dropped your bombs, throlling up miliseconds later for the steep climb out. Rooster watched your G’s climb as your timer ran out. Only seconds remaining as his heart raced.

Bob was the next to jump from his seat in anticipation, watching as the bombs you dropped his dead centre where they needed to be.

“Bullseye holy shit!” Fanboy cheered. Rooster hid his smile behind his first. Of course you had done it, he never doubted it for a second.

“That's my girl–” Rooster whispered to himself. “Atta girl.” Reaching a total of 10 G’s with less than a second to spare. You’d done it.

“Damn–” Hangman smirked, nodding because you'd done it. Done what none of them had been able to do. Perhaps Rooster had been right all along, they should have packed their gear knowing you were here.

Settling into your seat as you chuckled, you shook your head in utter disbelief. You’d actual fucking down it.

“Captain Michell” You radioed in. “I never got a chance to say it has been an honour to work under your guidance.” You sighed heavily. “Admiral Beau, if you’re there?” you paused for a second before removing your mask, holding it so your radio still picked up your voice. You just wanted everyone to see your smirk. Knowing that they couldn't say exactly what you were about to say.

“Eat my whole ass–”

***~***~***~***~***~***~

“You have put me in a difficult position Lieutenant.” It wasn't a position you wanted to be in, but nevertheless? You had put yourself there regardless. Standing before Admiral Beau as he stood looking out the window towards the airfield. “On the one hand, you have demonstrated that this mission can be flown, perhaps the only way it can be survived.” You took the compliment, it was probably the only good thing that was going to come out of this. “On the other hand, you did it by stealing a multimillion dollar military aircraft and flying it in such a manner that it may never be airworthy again.”

“In my defence, sir– it wasn't all that hard to steal–perhaps upgrading the security around here should be something on your to do list.” You retaliated, knowing holding back wasn't going to change any decision that wasn't already made. With a heavy sigh, Admiral Beau ran his hand down his face.

“Iceman is no longer here to protect you.”

“Its Commander Kazanksy, sir–” With gritted teeth, you stood with your shoulders squared. Watching as Admiral Beau crossed the room. His eyes trained on you. Anger prevalent.

“I have everything I need to have you court marshalled and dishonourably discharged.” He hissed, letting the silence linger for a moment as he held that threat before you. “So what do I do? risk the lives of my pilots and perhaps the success of the mission? Or–risk my career by appointing you team leader.”

“Sir–?” You questioned as you stepped forward. A hand coming to cup your shoulder, pulling you back in line with a soft shuckle.

“I think the Admiral was asking a rhetorical question, Lieutenant,” Warlock smirked as he held you back. Nodding his way you stepped back in line.

Damn, that wasn't the outcome of your actions you were expecting, if anything it was some quinesentail underdog shit.

***~***~***~***~***~***~

Opening the door, you were met with Jake Seresin standing across the hall. Leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. Rolling your eyes—you made a quick exit down the hall. Hangman hot on your tail.

“You’re actually delusional if you thought that stunt was gonna get you anywhere—“ Hangman hissed as he caught up with you, walking directly beside you. Letting out a scoff you smirked, looking down at the ground you walked on. Finding comfort in the stable ground.

“Admiral Beau just gave me a death sentence, do you really think I give a damn if you think I’m some nepotism baby? At fault for Sam’s death? or fucking delusional?” Stopping in your tracks, Hangman looked at you confused. “I don't wanna lose it right now, because I’m tired of being psychotic—but I'm not getting through this.” Pausing, you cleared your throat. “I don’t get to come back from this one, Lieutenant.”

“Cyclone made you team lead did he?” He couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“I think I’d rather be discharged.”

“You told him to eat your ass though—“

“What happened!?” Turning, you saw Rooster racing towards you. His boots heavy against the floor as he came jogging up to you. Embracing you instantly. Warm and all consuming. Wrapping your arms around his torso as you were quick to hide your face in his chest. “What happened?”

“Little miss Chaos here is team lead—“ Hangman broke the news as Rooster pulled away to look at you, cupping your cheeks. “I mean I guess when you're the only one who’s crazy enough to pull that kinda stunt he didn’t really have a choice did he?”

“He made you team lead?” Panic in his eyes, Rooster begged you to say no. He didn’t want you going on this mission, not when he had a chance to fix things. “Y/n?”

“Captain Mitchell still has to choose my foxtrot teams—and my wingman.” Your voice too softly for it to even be heard by Hangman. “But I already told him not to choose you.” Rooster felt the knife you pressed into his heart as he stepped away.

“Oh damn—“ Hangman smirked as he watched on. He wished he had some popcorn handy.

“Why would you do that?” It wasn’t what Rooster asked that broke your heart, it was the way he asked. Defeated, broken, betrayed.

“Because I don’t think you’re ready, and I need to be able to put all my trust in my wingman.” It was the furthest thing from the truth as you held back tears. You didn’t think you had any more left to cry. But as it turns out you did. “It’s nothing personal—“

“Nothing personal!!?” It made you flinch the way Rooster raised his voice. “It’s nothing but personal!”

“Hey, easy—“ Jake reached out to place a hand on Rooster's shoulder. “Maverick still has final say.”

“You really are holding a grudge huh?” Beaming nothing but resentment for you, Rooster gritted his teeth. His jaw clenched as he stepped into your personal space, towering over you. “I thought I fucking loved you—turns out I just loved the person I thought I left behind.”

“Rooster—“ Reaching out, Rooster shrugged you off as he turned on his heels, walking away. Leaving you behind.

“You don’t mean any of that do you?” Hangman’s gaze remained on Rooster's back as he stood beside you. “You just don’t want him to be in danger—“

“You know, sometimes you can be really smart, Seresin.” You sighed as Rooster disappeared from your sight. “I wouldn’t trust any other person with my life, but I don’t want to die saving mine if things were to go wrong.”

“Could’ve just explained it you know?” Frowning you turned to Hangman. Shaking your head as you walked away.

“You managed three seconds.”

***~***~***~****~****~****~****~****~****~****~

Chaos Masterlist

Tags: @lyannaredbird @luckyladycreator2 @skagelynn @teacupdreams @the-winter-marvel33reblogs @mrsjaderogers @katieshook02 @thescarletknight2014 @justanothermagicalsara @4ngelicb4byy @percysaidnever @puriini @luckylexie @is-this-a-febreze-commercial @shrimping-for-all @fayethefairy @lonelywitchv2 @mizzzpink @unforgettwble @itzyogurl92 @lemoonandlestars @mulletmcghee @redqueeen99 @bucky-barmes @mak-32 @fivsecondsflat @loveless-simp @bradleysgirl

#bradley bradshaw x female reader #chaos // bradley bradshaw #bradley bradshaw angst #bradley rooster bradshaw #top gun hangman #top gun bob #top gun bradley bradshaw #top gun maverick imagine #bradley bradshaw imagine #bradley bradshaw fanfiction #bradley bradshaw x y/n

397 notes · View notes

thejediscrolls · 11 months

Text

You Drew Stars

Hunter x Jedi reader x (Platonic) Tech

Unrequited love is a real Bantha

Angst / Fluff

Pt 7 of You Drew Stars

It was the suddenness of it all that had Tech standing in place from when he landed in the forest ground. The shock overwhelming his body like a wave. He was safe… He could feel the breeze against his flushed cheeks. The hum of the birds. The song of the trees but she…

She was…

He couldn’t bare to look above him even though the clouds covered the top of the building. Where she lied, no longer able to feel the sun or the drops of rain.

Was it raining?

No… It couldn’t be. The planet’s surface only allowed rain every four rotations and the last rotation had already passed before we arrived.

It wasn’t rain and yet he still felt droplets of water fall from his eyes and onto the his shaking hands.

No it wasn’t raining.

His mind raced with possible outcomes of her surviving. Maybe the wound wasn’t as bad? Maybe she only lost some blood? Maybe she was safe… and yet his mind flashed to the fatal scorch of the blaster imbedded in her skin.

His mind once again remained blank and scattered all at once.

“Tech… Tech do you copy? General? We got our safely.”

It was the voice of his brother who brought him out of his numbing daze.

“Plan 56. Good luck.” Hunter’s voice clicked out.

Follow the coordinates.

What would he tell Hunter?

How Tech got to the coordinates Echo dropped he couldn’t tell anyone. He doesn’t even remember looking at his data pad. It was as if he was on autopilot and his mind was a galaxy away and in a sense it was. It was where she sacrificed herself so that he could live.

This is all my fault. This is all my fault. This is all my fault.

It was what he repeated to himself over and over with each step he took further from her and towards his safety. His bottom lip bled from how hard he was biting it.

He could feel the air that filled his lungs and he could only imagine how still hers were. Her body motionless, no longer filled with the life she once held in her smile, her mind, her laugh.

His best friend was truly gone and he only had himself to blame.

My fault… My fault… My fault.

His brothers watched worried from the ship as Tech emerged from the tree line. They saw the rigidness in his movements, the way he hunched over more than usual. Tech did little to notice them as he kept coming closer and closer.

The only thing he could see was himself falling away from the danger and watching as her body fell onto the floor.

It’s all my fault…

“Tech?” Echo’s voice was filled with caution as he studied his brother.

A ranging cry fell from Tech’s lips as he tried to get a hold of himself. He couldn’t deal with this. He needed to be calm, he had to get back to the ship. He had to get away from the look in her eyes. He had to keep going…

Run… Run… Run.

He took another step and it was Hunter once again who was the first to place a hand on his brother’s shoulder, startling him from the overwhelming emotions surging through him.

“Tech… What happened?” Hunter asked slowly and carefully in a way that would calm his brother down.

“I don’t understand! I don’t understand!” Tech screamed as he held onto his head, “I don’t! It doesn’t! I can’t!”

“What don’t you understand Tech?” Hunter asked.

“It should have been me! That shot was suppose to hit me! She- It’s my fault. I…” Tech’s bottom lip trembled and suddenly he was sobbing.

Echo’s eyes widened at the shocking display, Hunter’s heart clenching with fear. Tech never sobs and now here he was wi the tears flowing down his cheeks and the General wasn’t with him.

Wait.

Hunters brow furrowed. The General wasn’t with him… Where was she? He wondered as he used his abilities to see if she was near by, but found nothing to ease his worry.

Wrecker bounded out of the marauder with a lightness in his heavy step. He munched on one of the ration bars expecting for the group to be in a cheerful mood after the mission only to see his brothers in a state of panic. Wrecker’s brows furrowed as he looked around noticing that one of their team was missing.

“Hey, where’s the General?” Wrecker asked the question that his other two were too scared to say.

And suddenly the forest seemed quiet. Too quiet as if they mourned alongside the brothers. Not even the unknown species scattered across the trees let themselves be known. The only sound that carried through the thick forest was Tech’s sobs. He couldn’t form a sentence, his hands shaking as he sobbed.

“She didn’t make it… Did she?” Echo spoke the question that Hunter refused to ask.

Tech should his head at it was the only answer they would get as they led their brother inside the ship.

The ship felt eerily quiet, nothing but the thrum of the ship gliding through hyperspace. Echo flew the ship alone, Tech huddle in his bed as feeling of guilt flew through him. Feelings that he didn’t know how to process causing him to shut down completely. Wrecker sat on one of the crates, hands empty for he didn’t have Toola to comfort him through the loss.

And Hunter… Hunter felt numb. His insides as cold as the wind on this planet. He desperately tried to grasp onto anything, but his heightened senses were muted as he sat in the copilots seat.

It was hours before anyone of them could accept what had happened. Such a simple mission… In and out. That’s all this was. They were supposed to make it out together like they always had.

Why was this happening… Hunter thought as he closed his eyes.

It he focused hard enough, he could still smell her scent wafting through ship and with his eyes closed, he could almost pretend that she was here with them.

“I remember the time she and General Tano pranked General Skywalker.” Echo spoke with a fondness to his voice, “It was back in my rookie days with the boys. We walked into our mission meeting only to find General Skywalker’s hair pink.”

Hunter glanced over at his brother who was smiling to himself.

Echo chuckled, “Those two girls were a menace in their youth, but I suppose all of us were.”

“Hm…” Hunter agreed.

“I’m sorry…” Echo’s voice was gruff yet gentle as he spoke for the first time in hours.

“I’m sorry too. We all lost a friend today.” Hunter replied as a leader should, “But, I’m worried about Tech.”

“I’m worried too…” Echo shook his head, “I’ve never seen him like that before.”

“He handles emotions differently then others.” Hunter explained, “I’ve only seen him like this once when we were younger. He couldn’t handle being apart from any of us.”

“Can I ask you a question?” Echo asked.

“Yeah.” Hunter agreed numbly.

He wanted anything to distract him from the pain that was slowly engulfing his very being and yet he didn’t cry. He couldn’t…

Not until his family was okay.

“Was she just your friend?” Echo asked.

This question made Hunter sigh as his shoulders tensed.

So much for a distraction. Hunter thought displeased, but he also didn’t understand what Echo could be implying.

He closed his eyes with a sigh, “She was also my best friend.”

“Just your best friend?” Echo prompted.

“Yes.” Hunter looked up at the ceiling.

“We’re all best friends, family even, but I’ve seen the way you look… Looked at her… And it is far different from the way I look at her…” Echo trailed off hoping that he wasn’t taking it too far.

“What are you implying?” Hunter’s brows furrowed, “I’ve only ever looked at her with respect and care. She is my general and my friend… Was my…”

“I’m sorry.” Echo sighed, “All I’m trying to say is that out of everyone on this ship you lost the most today.”

“Not just me…” Hunter’s shoulder fell as he glanced at Omega’s room.

“What are we going to tell her?” Echo asked.

Hunter shook his head, “The truth.”

With that, their home was once again filled with silence.

“General, you need to be careful.” He spoke with a repressed sigh.

“Careful isn’t my middle name.” She countered with a lighthearted tone even as she cringed from the pain.

“It should be.” Hunter muttered.

He worked on swiftly bandaging near her shoulder with a blaster shot only inches from her heart.

“What would have happened if I wasn’t there?” He continued with a shake of his head, “You could have been killed.”

“It had to be done to save those citizens.” She paused as she looked him in the eyes, “I don’t need to be careful when the mission is at stake, when the safety of my squad is as stake.”

“Still…” Hunter tried, but she only shushed him.

“Besides, I’ve got my best friend to protect me aka you.” She insisted with a playful poke to his arm.

His brows furrowed the way they always did when he was worried, “What if I’m not there?”

He noticed the smile slip from her face, concern replacing it instead.

“One day I may not make it back, but promise me you’ll take care of our team. We’re not just a group, but a family so make sure they’re okay.” She said sincerely.

“Hunter promise me…” She insisted.

“I…” He trailed off.

“You need to wake up now Domů.” Her voice was light as she held a playful look in her eyes.

But the question confused Hunter.

This was not how this conversation was supposed to go.

“Huh?” He asked, confused.

She leaned down close to him, their lips brushing as she whispered.

“Wake up.”

Hunter’s eyes quickly snapped open to the sound of Echo’s voice.

It was just a dream… He thought as a painful feeling filled his chest.

“She never told me what that name meant.” He whispered more to himself, but Echo heard him.

Echo sat on the bed, next to his younger brother, “What name?”

“Domů.” Hunter sighed.

“Would you like me to tell you?” Echo asked with nothing, but gentleness in his tone.

Echo knew what the word meant and he also knew just how important it was to the both of them.

“No.” Hunter shook his head, “I’d rather not know… I only wanted her to tell me…”

Echo nodded at the quiet implication.

“What did you wake me up for?” He asked as his foggy mind began to clear.

“We’re here.” Echo said solemnly, “And Omega… She’s already at the front.”

Hunter lifted himself from his bunk, the weight of his shoulders suddenly weighing down heavily, “I’m coming.”

He tried his best to make his tired appearance more presentable.

“How is Tech doing?” He asked Echo as the walked to the exit of the ship.

“Quiet, but he seems better than before.” Echo answered.

It was there that they all stood at the exit, none of the brothers wanted to open ramp. They stood in their bubble, hoping to delay the look on Omega’s face once she finds out what happened.

It was Hunter who finally opened the ramp, heading down with heavy steps as Omega waited excited at the bottom along with Phee.

“You’re back!” Omega greeted excitedly as she hugged her brothers.

“How did it go? Did you see Rex? I tried to comm you Echo, but you didn’t respond.” She motioned to the comm on her wrist.

“I’m sorry.” Echo chipped in before she started to ask even more questions.

Her questions came out like rapid fire and it was hard to form any sort of answer.

“Did you find what you needed? Can I come with you to deliver it this time?” Her questions surged through the air before the slowed to a confused look.

She glanced at the Marauder, “When is she coming out? Is she sleeping? I want to hear her stories about what happened.”

The brothers all looked at each other with guilt wracking through their bones.

“Hunter?” She looked to him for answers.

“Hey kid listen…” He said as gently as he could muster.

“Where is she?” Omega pressed.

It was Phee who caught on to the boys solemn moods and motioned for Tech to come towards her and out of view of Omega. She placed her hand on his arm and his act fell as his shoulders slumped in defeat, leaning into her for support.

“Omega…” Hunter glanced down at her, the heartache evident in his eyes.

“What?” She asked, the confusion evident on her face.

“She’s…” A slump formed in his throat that he tried to swallow.

“What is it?” Omega asked impatiently, “I want to see her.”

Hunter tried to get himself together, he really did but he felt his invisible armpit chip away piece by piece.

“Is she hurt?” Her impatience fell to worry, “If she’s hurt, I should go help her.” She began to walk past him to get to the ship, but he stopped her with his arm.

He looked to the side, unable to look her in the eyes as he said, “She’s gone Omega.”

“What do you mean she’s gone? Was she captured? We have to go back to get her.” She balled her fists and tried to get past her brother once again.

“No.” Hunter spoke gently and this time he knelt in front of her and gently held her by her arms.

“What if she’s hurt? She needs us.” Omega said quickly as she tried to pull away from his grip.

She huffed in anger, “What are you all doing just standing here? We have to go now! Tell him we have to go now... Wrecker? Echo? Tell him!”

Wrecker and Echo looked at the young girl, pity and grief evident in their eyes.

She quickly looked back to Tech for any support only to find him holding onto to Phee as if she was his lifeline and right now she was.

“We can’t just leave her.” Omega insisted, panic rising with her voice.

“Omega…” Hunter tried to pull her into a hug, but she pulled away.

“We need...” Omega’s eyes began to fill with tears, “We need to help her.”

“She’s not coming back Omega.” He managed to say through a ragged breath, “She didn’t make it.”

“That’s not true! She promised she’d come back. Make her come back Hunter!” Omega struggled against his grip as she yelled, the tears she held back now running freely down her cheeks.

“I can’t.” He shook his head as he tried to keep himself together, “I can’t and I wish in every bone in my body that I could bring her back, but I can’t.”

“No! My mom’s not gone!” She shook her head, “She can’t be…”

“I know… I know kid.” Hunter sighed and she finally fell into him for a hug.

“We are a family.” Omega cried into his shoulder, “We are supposed to stick together…”

Wrecker’s shoulders slumped at the scene as he ran a hand over his face to wipe away his tears. No longer would he hear his general’s stories or get warm soup when he was feeling ill.

Echo remained silent, the years of loosing his brothers keeping his emotions sealed away, but he couldn’t help the sadness that crept in his eyes.

“What… Happened?” Her voice cracked as she struggled to get the words out.

“We were surrounded. She was shot by a blaster and her wounds were severe…” Tech spoke for the first time in a while.

“What?” Omega gasped.

It took him a moment before he could speak again, “She didn’t let me try to help her. We were running out of time… She knew that and she still did everything to save me.”

This revelation had Omega crying even more knowing that her brother could have also been killed…

“I am sorry Omega. I truly am.” Tech shook his head with grief, “This is all my fault.”

“No.” Omega stated stubbornly as she pulled away from Hunter’s comforting hug.

“This… This is all there fault!” Omega’s voice grew angry, “They took Crosshair, they took my mom… I won’t stand for this! They will pay for tearing apart our family.”

“No Omega.” Hunter shook his head, “The general made a sacrifice to save Tech. She did everything her power to make sure our brother would come back to us.” Hunter said with a solemn look in his eyes.

“But she’s gone now because of them!” Omega yelled.

“We’re not going to let her sacrifice die in vain. We’re going to stay together and continue to protect one another. I say that it is time to put being soldiers behind us. For good.” Hunter stated, his words final.

It wasn’t until later in the evening, when the sun was about to set upon the glittering sea that the small batch of siblings took their place at Hazard’s table.

“You know from what I’ve heard from Omega here, you would be an integral part of our community.” Hazard said with a lightheartedness to his tone.

The air grew quite as everyone listened closely to Hunter’s words.

“That is kind of you to say. My brother’s and I have been talking and we all think that Pabu would be a good place for us to settle down.” Hunter said.

Omega’s brows furrowed, “It would?”

Echo stepped in, “It will be a fresh start for you to finally live a life away from war or crime.”

Hunter nodded in agreeance, “I know it will be tough and we will all need time to settle into this new lifestyle, but I’m sure that we can figure that out along the way.” He spoke and a small smile forming on his face.

“Sounds like fun! We can finally go fishing like I promised!” Wrecker chimed in with a hearty laugh as he lightened the mood.

“I wouldn’t mind living here.” Tech murmured as Phee placed her hand over his, a small smile on both of their faces.

Hunter looked over to his left at Omega watching as she talked to her new friend, someone who was her age. To see her more relaxed was such a relief to him compared to the tears she shed earlier.

“Omega?” Hunter called for her attention.

Omega pulled her attention away from Lyana and waited patiently for her brother to continue with what he had to say.

“Is this something that you want?” He asked her sincerely, “Your answer matters.”

Omega took a long moment to think about what path she wanted to take and where she wanted to be…

Where my family should be. She thought determined. They deserve to live a happy life.

She’s already lost so many already and she didn’t want to lose anymore of her family. That was certain.

Her answer was decided as she slowly nodded her head, “I would like to stay… She would want us to live here in peace.”

“Then it’s settled.” Hunter agreed as he raised his glass, “For our general.”

“For our general.” Everyone at the table repeated with a raise of their own glasses.

What was supposed to be a day of celebration and storytelling turned into a cloud of sadness as everyone mourned the loss of their General in the setting sky and started to build the foundation of their new lives.

Taglist

@dragonrider9905 @sarahskywalker-amadala @spacebaby1 @cocolinagoodnight @that-one-potato-girl @originalcollectionartistry @arctrooper69 @brynhildrmimi @ttzamara @sunipostsstuff @fandomtrashwhore @i-just-like-to-read @kanakarbakar @dramamouse @gisselleherrerasposts @quince-xd @sunshinesdaydream @dangraccoon @solstraalaa @thesirenscallmelo @darkangel4121 @curious-cat-10-6 @dollyniini @urfriendlyneighbornightfury @red-plaidedandcladed @eternalwaffle @thesirenscallmelo @sunipostsstuff @idoubleswearimawriter @nerdyglasess @dragonrider9905 @nick-djarin @mysticcreatorfox @aeryntheofficial @originalcollectionartistry @elp-art @sunipostsstuff @andrakass2 @dangraccoon @motte-the-goblin @the1sunshine1girl @endofthexline @dalu-grantkylo @not-reilly @leafyturtle @waytoooldforthis78 @immarriedtorex

#star wars #star wars imagine #starwars #clone wars #bad batch #bad batch imagine #bad batch x reader #star wars x reader #crosshair #starwars imagines #hunter fluff #hunter x reader #tbb hunter #bad batch hunter #bad batch tech #bad batch echo #bad batch wrecker #bad batch crosshair

129 notes · View notes

maccreadysbaby · 4 months

Text

A Hundred Ways to Become a Wayne

batfamily + oc insert

tw: none

wanna read more? here’s the table of contents!

want to read the first fic in the hundred days series so you understand what’s going on here? here it is!

one intense chapter after another, ey?

part fourteen

❝ BIRD OF PREY ❞

SATURDAY — AUGUST 8 — 8:10AM

ASTEN SUGGESTED THEY FIND THE SECRET KEEPER’S BOSS FIRST. Which was easier said than done, considering they were thirteen and ten and the person they were trying to find had a telepathic metahuman at their disposal. (If they even existed, considering the Secret Keeper was so twisted she might just brand herself for fun and not have a boss at all.)

But even then, that didn’t stop Asten. He rivaled Tim when it came to his case-focus ratio. He’d begun his near-endless search right after they talked about it, and he was making a running list of every single person in Drew, Gotham, and Bludhaven that had gone missing in the past four months. Gathering any and all information he could weasel out of the media. (Why, Bentley wasn’t sure.)

After about two hours of list making mixed with random chatter and questions about each others lives, Bentley’s willpower to stay awake tapered off, and he faded away on his side of the bed with nothing more than Asten’s Crime-Alley-laced Portuguese accent to lure him to sleep. And it did a pretty good job of it. Because he was utterly and completely dead to the world until repetitive, incessant vibrating drew him back out of his slumber.

The sunshine was beaming against Bentley’s blackout curtains, making the room dim instead of gold. He moved in response to the vibrations at the same time Asten did. His clock read 8:17am, and he was really glad it was Saturday. No one would expect him to get up until at least nine or ten, given their strange circumstances.

Asten, who was still sitting up and staring at the screen of Tim’s computer that Bentley now claimed, fished his phone out from under the dark sheets and pressed it to his ear with a quiet: “Hello?”

A loud, urgent, rambling voice was what came back. Bentley couldn’t tell what it was saying, but Asten blinked and shook his head.

“Wait, wait, wait, man, slow down. What?” He muttered, rubbing at his eyes and putting the phone on speaker. “Go again — slower.”

“I didn’t… I can’t… oh my God,” Bentley recognized the voice, and his suspicions were confirmed when he noticed the caller ID on Asten’s screen said Nico. He sounded halfway to hysterical, crying and very nearly hyperventilating.

“Can’t what?” Asten inquired, closing the laptop with a click.

“Breathe,”

He sighed lightly, brushing a hand through his messy blue hair. “Dude, we’ve talked about this. If you can speak, you can breathe.”

Bentley laid his head back down on his pillow to listen.

“I can’t… Asten, you won’t…”

“What is it?”

Bentley heard Nico suck in a shaky breath, and it came back out as a couple quiet, pitiful sobs. “I had a dream about her, Asten. About her.”

Bentley’s eyes flicked up to Asten’s at the same time Asten’s flicked down to his.

Oh crap.

Asten sucked in a breath. “The Secret Keeper?”

“Yes! And-and my parents left at just five thirty for a business trip and they aren’t going to be back until Sunday night and I usually don’t go anywhere because I can just call them but I think this deal that they’re closing is really important and I don’t want to bother them and make them not close it but I’m-“

“Rambling,” Asten interjected.

“Can I come to your house? I’ll… I’ll hail a cab or something, I-“ Nico’s voice sounded different, filtering through both tears and the phone. He almost sounded younger.

“Not a cab driver in the world is going to take you to Crime Alley alone, dude.”

“I don’t… I’ll deal with that, okay? Just… just please, please, I’m so freaking scared,”

The little rattle-rattle-hiss-hiss of his inhaler sounded from the other end of the line, and Bentley frowned.

So the Secret Keeper hit both Nico and Asten in the same night. Bentley figured it made sense if she could read minds, since Nico was probably in Asten’s a lot. Maybe that’s how she got Dick and Bentley within hours of each other?

“You can bribe them with however much money you want, but it won’t do you any good,” Asten explained, sitting up and gently placing the laptop on Bentley’s bedside table. “I’m not home.”

Nico’s funny breathing exercise they had been listening to him perform promptly stopped. “You’re not… what? Where are you, then?”

“Bentley’s,”

“Bentley’s?! When did you decide to go over there?!” Nico squeaked.

“When the Secret Keeper decided that I needed to die. I had a dream about her, too — so did Bentley. I tried to call you, but you didn’t answer, so I walked to your house instead. Halfway there, actually, before she started chasing me. I panicked and called Bentley.”

Nico’s voice nearly doubled in pitch. “You mean you saw her? With your eyes?!”

“Yes, with my eyes,” Asten shot back. “Thanks for answering the phone when I could’ve literally been dying, by the way.”

“You can’t be mad at me, I’m already crying,” Nico replied with a huff. Another rattle-rattle-hiss-hiss emanated from the phone. “We’re going to die. We’re so going to die.”

Bentley grabbed his phone off of his opposite nightstand and sent a text to Bruce:

Nico had a nightmare about the secret keeper too.

Bruce’s typing bubbles only popped up for a split second before a response came.

Oh no. Does he need anything? We’re only a few minutes away from his house.

Bentley glanced over at Asten, who was attempting to talk Nico into a better breathing pattern over the phone.

He’s home alone all weekend and he’s really scared, is what Bentley texted back.

Bruce’s typing bubbles came, disappeared, then came again, and a text rolled in a few seconds later.

Does he want us to pick him up? You and Asten can ride.

Bentley held the phone over to Asten, who scanned the screen quickly.

“Please come over,” He heard Nico mutter from one end of the phone.

“Jokes on you, dude, you’re coming over,” Asten replied, sending Bentley a little nod. He texted Bruce back: yes.

“Huh?”

“We’re coming to get you, nosebleed. Go put your shoes on,”

Bentley furrowed his brows. “Nosebleed?”

“Means rich kid,” Asten muttered to Bentley. “You’re a nosebleed, too.”

“What do you mean we’re coming to get you? Who’s we?”

“Bruce is driving us over there, dude,” Asten stated, tossing the covers off of his legs and climbing out of the bed. Bentley followed suit.

“What?! No! I didn’t mean to… I didn’t want… I don’t want to bother him! I… I…”

“Calm down, Bruce is cool. He literally picked me up from the middle of downtown past two a.m. last night,” Asten explained as he pulled on his black tennis shoes that he’d abandoned next to Bentley’s bedroom door. Bentley did the same with the red tennis shoes he’d put back into the drawer of his wardrobe. “Plus, didn’t you literally tell me the other day that he offered you a ride whenever you needed one?”

“Well, yeah, but… but he was talking about school, and I don’t want to- oh my God, what was that?”

“Nico?” Asten inquired as he and Bentley made their way out of his bedroom and down the stairs. Bentley could already see Bruce putting his jacket on at the front door. (He really didn’t waste any time when it came to this sort of thing, did he?)

“I just heard something,” Nico muttered back.

“You have three dogs in the house, dude. We’re leaving now. I think it’s only a few minutes to your place,” Asten explained quietly as they padded up to Bruce, who muttered a quick: “Good morning, boys.” With a small smile and some kind of sentimental, nostalgic look in his gray irises.

“Good morning,” Bentley replied.

“Don’t you dare hang up on me!” Nico practically demanded, and his voice was getting thick, like he was crying hard again. “Please!”

“I’m not,” Asten reassured, switching the phone from one hand to the other.

There was another rattle-rattle-hiss-hiss and some muted mumbling about how he was going to need a new inhaler before the end of the year (which was apparently a bad thing.) as they walked out into the cold toward the garage. It was now cloudy and overcast, casting a gray hue on everything. They jogged from the house to the garage in the biting wind.

The garage was big, and the whole left wall was full of tools and car gadgets that Bentley was pretty sure no one ever touched but Jason. Bentley had only really seen him work on a few of the motorcycles they used for patrol, and the Batmobile once, all in the cave, so he wondered if anybody actually ever used the stuff out there.

They made their way to Bruce’s car, the last one on the left, and climbed in as quickly as they could. Bentley’s mind was spinning and spinning. The Secret Keeper was targeting his friends and family, for what? Fun?

He climbed in the righthand backseat and watched as Asten and Bruce popped their doors open. Bruce got in quickly, and Asten right afterward, though Bentley didn’t miss the little metallic clink or the way Asten oh-so-subtly swiped something from the workbench next to the vehicle.

At first he thought he might’ve been stealing, which was strange. But he climbed into the car with no hesitation, holding a shiny tire iron just out of Bruce’s sight, and shoved it beneath their seats with only a pointed glare sent Bentley’s way.

Oh. Right. Just in case.

They pulled out of the garage and set off, and Bruce turned the heat on. “It’s only eight minutes to your house, Nico,” He called from the front seat. All he got in response was a forced little: “Okay.” From Asten’s phone.

Bentley watched the outdoors pass in the window, occasionally listening to whatever rambling Nico kept doing.

Why was the Secret Keeper targeting them?

He watched the minutes until arrival tick down from eight to two, only startling when there was a bang and a gasp from Nico’s end of the call.

“What was-“

“Oh my God there’s someone in the house!” Nico half-whispered into the phone. It sounded like his voice was stifled by his hand and his hysterical crying. “There’s-there’s… there’s someone in the house, the-the door…”

“We’re only a couple minutes away,” Bruce said, speeding up quite a bit. Bentley recognized the streets they were on from driving Nico home from school, and the minutes changed from two to one. They were literally almost there, yet every passing second made his heart beat faster.

What if they weren’t on time?

“I can hear them, I-I can hear them walking, I-“

“Then shut up and hide, dude,” Asten muttered, glancing over at Bentley with wide eyes, a hollowness in them similar to when he’d been chased. Something akin to hopelessness, maybe.

Nothing but the sound of Nico’s muffled crying came through the phone for a solid thirty seconds.

Then a bang. A wham. A scream. And the three telltale beeps of the call ending.

“Nico?” Asten questioned, quickly dialing his number again. It rang, it rang, it rang, and it went to voicemail.

Bentley’s heart sank to his toes.

“He isn’t answering!” Asten basically shouted. His calm and collected demeanor completely vanished, and Bentley wondered how he could keep his cool so good when trying to keep Nico calm.

Bruce pulled into the Rockefeller’s driveway not ten seconds later. It had began to mist slightly, and it was getting a little foggy. Everything looked normal. Normal except…

The front door was open.

“Stay in the car,” Bruce ordered, climbing out of the front seat. Bentley noticed that it sounded a little more like his Batman voice than his Bruce voice, and fully intended on obeying Batman’s orders.

Asten did not.

He popped his door open despite Bruce’s words and was already halfway out before the Batman stopped him in his tracks, taking up a position between the boy and the house. Asten’s attempts to go around him were fooled by Bruce extending an arm.

“Mr. Wayne-”

“Get back in the car, bud. It’s too dangerous,” Bruce ordered. Asten tried again to curve around the other way, but a large hand stopped him, again.

“But-“

“I’ll make sure he’s safe, but I need to make sure you’re safe, too,” Bruce gestured quickly back to Asten’s seat. “Go on. I’ll be right back.”

With a huff, Asten slid back into the car and closed the door. All four doors clicked when Bruce engaged the locks, and both Bentley and Asten watched him head through the fog and into the house without reproach.

Once he was out of sight, Asten huffed deeply, sinking back into his seat and rubbing a hand over his face. He looked tired.

“Why is this happening to us?” He murmured, crossing his arms over his chest.

Bentley would offer words of reassurance, but if he were completely honest, he was thinking the same thing.

Were they just another statistic, another tally on the Secret Keeper’s record, or was this something darker, something more sinister than even they could comprehend? Was she really just a serial killer and kidnapper, or was something else going on that they didn’t know about?

Bentley shrunk back into his seat, too. “I don’t know.”

Minutes passed. Two. Five. Seven. When they got to nine, the front door swung open.

And Bentley’s heart catapulted from his toes all the way into his throat.

“Oh my God,” Asten said lowly, and Bentley gasped, his left hand fumbling for something to grab — he ended up squeezing the hem of Asten’s jacket.

The Secret Keeper was grinning at them with her stitched smile from the front door, amber eyes nearly glowing into the dim fog. Her white hair was stringy and looked kind of wet, stained at the bottom with something brown Bentley didn’t want to think too hard about. She was staring at them. Hard and cold and unabashedly, deep down into their souls, into their minds, smiling.

Bentley found the back of his eyes burning, and he made a pitiful sound when Asten’s jacket was wrenched out of his grip by the Brazilian reaching for the tire iron he’d stowed away.

She was just staring at them. Just staring. Still staring when Asten sat back up with the tire iron in hand and turned toward the window, and Bentley grabbed onto the back of his jacket. Staring and smiling. The car was so quiet he could only hear his and Asten’s equally ragged, panicked breaths.

“It’s a trap.” Asten whispered, breathless despite not taking a step. “For us.”

Bentley whimpered: “Are you sure?”

“It sure as hell seems like one,” Asten replied softly. The Secret Keeper hadn’t moved an inch. Why wasn’t she doing anything?

“What if Bruce is-“

“He’s not,” Asten silenced Bentley’s dark thought pattern immediately. “Don’t panic, Whittaker.”

“Not panicking,” Bentley murmured back, even though his knuckles were starting to turn white from how hard he was clutching Asten’s jacket.

“Call Bruce,”

Bentley wasted no time using the hand that wasn’t holding onto the older boy’s jacket for dear life to fish his phone out. As soon as his finger hovered over the call button, however, a sharp, stabbing pain ripped from one side of his skull to the other, and he dropped the device with a shrill, stifled shout, folding in on himself in the seat. An ear-splitting ring drowned out nearly all other noise, and he didn’t hear Asten speak, only felt his friend’s hands land on either side of his head in an attempt to understand what was going on.

Black and purple splotches danced in his vision. He could feel himself breathing, and he could feel Asten’s hands near his temples, but he couldn’t hear anything over the ring that threatened to bust his eardrums. His attempts to move were quickly halted by an onslaught of disorienting vertigo, making what he could see of the vehicle around him warp and spin.

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell your secrets, Babybird,”

He grappled for something, anything, tugging at what he thought might’ve been Asten’s pant leg as he coiled up into a little ball on the seat next to him. He tried to force words out but he couldn’t hear them. He couldn’t hear anything. Please don’t let her kill me.

Everything went black.

—

dedicated to @sassenashsworld 💚

—

tag list! (If you want me to remove or add you, ask in comments!)

@fleur-alise @sarcopterygiian @cademygod

26 notes · View notes